


Son of Two Sides

by PharaohsAshes



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aka I change A LOT of Shit, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Revolution, Assassin's Creed III, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Its Really Confusing I'm so Sorry, Massive Overhaul of the Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PharaohsAshes/pseuds/PharaohsAshes
Summary: There is war on the rise and the conflict between Templar and Assassin's is fueling the flames, Asch Chambers thrown into the conflict when she becomes entangled in the mysterious life of Haytham Kenway.Adding Tags as they become relevant.It might be terrible summary, I might edit it later if I reflect on it more.
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haytham Kenway/Asch Chambers
> 
> So this was a lot shorter than I wanted it to be, but here is the first of I-don't-know how many chapters. 
> 
> I got really into this character while going through the series and this story just came to me, I'll be updating as often as I can, I took a few liberties not gonna lie... but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. 
> 
> For now enjoy and please comment if you like! I love reading them!

The day was misted over in frost, a brutal and unrelenting winter set in quickly, and without notice. A bone chilling, desperate creep that shook even the hardest man.

Asch had little chance against it, waking up in a linen covered hay pile, no more than a scratchy grey blanket as a barrier to the cold. Each breath accompanied by a fog, an unrelenting shake and pale skin. She holds a moment, trying to make the lasting tendrils of warmth last as long as she can before pushing up from the lump.

Most of the servants huddled around the meek fire in the kitchen, warming their stiff fingers and sharing layers and heat. Asch had no such luxury, while the fort was managing to awaken, she was one of few awake and moving. Pulling the layers of her dress tightly around her as she watched, jealously, as the water begun to boil. Shivering hands handle delicate teacups and cringe at their coldness, needing no more of it. She’s gentle with the milk, laying it upon the tray along with cubes of sugar.

Before she takes hold of the tray, she stills her hands, breathing warm air into her palm, gritting her teeth to still the erratic shaking, stuffing one unruly lock of hair back into her bonnet. She passes the soldiers littering the grounds, they pity her with a smile as she passes, and Asch appreciates that they move from her way, holding the doors open “Mornin’ miss.” Mickken, the usual doorman says, huddled into his coat, Asch exposes her face enough to smile, regretting it as he lets her through. She’s quicker now, the officer quarters were not a place to linger, no matter how warm her bones became by the many braziers of fire. She counts the doors, one, two, three- moving all the way to seven before she’s at her destination. Asch picks at the knob, meekly pushing it with the tips of her fingers to unlatch it to shoulder the rest open. It was her first day _here,_ Millicent told her the night before exactly what was to be done, nothing particular about the tea, but detailed all the same.

Milk left side, tea middle- _God help you girl if you forget to place a sugar on the spoon._ It was no stranger request as any other she was ever given, Coronal Londiberri was far worse than this. Asch had little expectations of what she would find, truly wasn’t dedicated enough to the gossip that filled the fort. It was a visitor, one that was given grand stories that she was too cold to care for. 

Asch makes no spectacle of herself as she enters, _place the tray, fix everything uneven and pour the tea._ The presence of another person still prickled her skin, the _scratch_ of a quill moving on parchment was testament enough to that. Asch places the tray down upon the decorated end table by the roaring fire, basking in the warmth that licked at the side of her face, but allows herself no more pleasure, it was not her luxury to get used too.

She steeps the metal tea trap in the steaming water, watching it carefully as it darkens, awaiting the moment it settles into a dark brown.

It was beautiful here, more than any of the other quarters, the furniture was dark and dressed in silk fabric- most replaced. It was a finer taste, but she didn’t know much about it either way.

Asch smiles in a moment of indulged satisfaction; the tea was perfect looking.

And that was it, she had finished her task and was about to leave without so much as a sound, she didn’t even pay mind to the sounds the visitor made, that is, until he _spoke._

_“You are not the usual girl.”_

Haytham found _some_ reports tedious to fill out, but men were a mark of their work, and he would not be found lacking because it couldn’t hold his attention. The day was crisp, windows covered in spider lines of frost, a fresh layer of snow on the window ledge. A very pretty day, he might have thought, were it not so unbearably cold. It never bothered him once before, but today, the wind was vengeful. Haytham was thankful for the dreadful paperwork.

The sound of the door shouldn’t have stirred his interest, but it did. _Just a girl with his tea,_ He muses, eyes flicking up, but finding them paused. It shouldn’t have been anything, _really._ But he was always too observant. Her cloths were poor, nothing new or even interesting, but her _face._ Haytham tilts his head, frowning, was that- _soot?_ Yes- yes it was. _Curious._ It was a poor attempt to hide something, but what, he had yet to understand. That should have been it, the extent of his findings an amusing distraction- but it _wasn’t._

A single, rebellious lock of hair fell against her dirty cheek- what was interesting about that? Haytham scans it with great scrutiny, her hair might have passed for black, if the dye job wasn’t poor. The actual color of her hair was hard to tell, but by the dye staining her fingers and spots in her hair that she missed, it was clear she was hiding _something._ The maid looked simple enough, but he was smarter than that to write it off- so he watches, wondering what all this amounted too. She was thin, he could easily wrap his hand around her wrist with ease, it would hardly be a challenge to disable her- if there was more she was hiding than her hair and face.

Fingernails were neat, longer than a servant should care to have them, _she might not be one._ Haytham muses, pretending to write as she steeps his tea, he wouldn’t be drinking that. She stuffs the hair away with haste, he waits, high in his chair, _curious._

What made him open his mouth was a mystery, mouth insolent to his mind, “You aren’t the usual girl.” Well, it was done now.

She jerks, it was harsh, she was shocked- or _very good at pretending._ Did she think him so stupid?

“N-No S-Sir.” She utters, and it was almost impossible, even for him, to catch it. There was a game here, Haytham concludes. “I don’t recall,” he begins, sizing her as he did every adversary, “The standard being so low as to allow you to be so unkempt.” She was a mousy thing, smaller and still trying to make herself more so, “Clean your face.” He commands, and waits for her to defy it, waits for the game to end, at the end of her blade or his. She looks terrified, caught like a critter in a trap. As if she truly didn’t know what to do, it takes her a long time, whether debating to uncover herself for what she was, or some less exciting reason. The stiffness in her hands make it look painful when she finally scrubs her face with her dirtied apron. The maid rubs her eyes red, irritated by whatever was on her face, decidedly _not_ using the water basin only feet from her. _Anyone else might have._ Haytham wondered now if he made more out of this than he should have, the maid looked terribly inept to the task of killing him, _my he must have been bored._

When she eventually stopped rubbing her face Haytham was surprised by what he saw. The gray of the soot was still clouding her cheeks, but now he could see under the grit that she was disarming. _What a sweet face_ Haytham felt his brows raise, any thought thrown from his mind as her murky grey eyes stare at the floor, reddened and watery. “Better,” He finds his voice, clearing it. _Why was it so dry all the sudden?_

Hair falls out of her bonnet again limp around her cheeks, hanging low with her head. She makes no move to fix it, at his attention. “Take that off.” He requests, too curious for her own good. She’s quicker to this command, maybe sensing it was coming. Her hair spills out around her shoulders, a leather tie falling at her feet, broken in two parts. The _sheer_ amount of work it did was astonishing, what falls out goes well passed her hips, the ends arrowing down to her knees _, no wonder it broke._ The roots were a matching white to the fresh snow outside, while the rest of her hair was muddled black and patchy- parts darker and some not, some strands missed completely. The combination of shades, the blacks, grays, and whites look miserable, the attempt to hide was so feeble she might as well have not tried anything at all- it would be less noticeable still. With the mask stripped from her face the girl looked barer than if she was naked, as if she had hated her own face without the dirt.

The inside lining, before she could hide it behind her was soaked with black splotches, some old and dingy, some new and still wet.

_Why?_ He felt the question threaten to rise.

“S-Sir.” She whispers, curtsying as if he dismissed her and denying him the chance too. It was defiant, but that thought hadn’t crossed his mind first like he would have, no, instead;

_What have I done?_

Haytham was at a loss for words, an odd wretched feeling clawing under his skin. It stayed with him as the tea cooled, gnawing at his flesh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham Kenway/Asch Chambers
> 
> I'm a huge disaster. Please enjoy!

Millicent was a sweet women, but did not stand for misbehavior, her aging face carried the smile of a mother, but on her hip was a folded scrap of leather she would bat people miserable with. Asch had been smacked on the hands more times than she could count. Little yellowing bruises were a testament to that. _Not the easiest girl to get in line,_ she would say. “I told you- I said that dirty face of yours wasn’t proper!” Asch clutches her sore hands, rubbing the redness worse to ebb the pain from her fingers.

Asch spoke not a word of what happened, but now it was the greatest gossip of the day, “Master Kenway shouldn’t have’ta see ‘ya dirty face!” Millicent bats at her shoulder with a wet cloth, “Clean yourself! And get that muck out of your hair!” Asch cringes as Millicent pulls at the laces, losing them for the wooden tub, “Causing trouble where you ain’t ought to!”

Asch scowls at the water, rubbing at her face halfheartedly, “You’ll not embarrass the rest a’ the staff- running ‘round lookin’ like that.” Millicent bites, Asch squeals when cold water is dumped on her head, shivering, “B-But I-“ “No nothing! Master Kenway shouldn’t have’ta speak ‘ta the filth on ‘ur face.” Her tone brokers no arguments, as if Asch was witless enough to try. Her rough hands scrub into her skull, pulling the dye out of it, “Such a pretty color- why make such a mess?” Millicent grumbles, throwing more water on her head to wash away the lingering murky water. “The new clothes will be taken out of your pay and you best not ruin them like you have these!”

“But that’s a whole week of pay!” Asch protests, teeth chittering as her scalp is ripped raw by the twine brush, “Should have thought that before you wrecked what you were given!” Asch stews, glaring at the new fresh clothes sitting high on the shelf while her old ones were rumpled on the floor by the wood stripped door.

Millicent rings her hair out like she would a rag, twisting it in a screw until the drips ceased to fall. Asch grunts as her head is yanked back by the brush again, “You won’t be wearing no bonnet neither-“ she mutters around pins taken from her own hair. Asch feels her pull the locks taut as she braids it from root to ends, circling it in a bun and shoving pins where she willed. Asch tweaks at the stabbing pain of the metal, head throbbing at the harsh treatment. “Presentable.” Millicent hums thoughtfully, nudging her forward, “Get dressed.”

Asch hisses lowly at the stinging air, quickly pulling the layers of clothes on to help herself from the chill. She felt bare, her face pink and washed raw, not a single hair to cover her face. The dirty, chipped mirror that sat against the wall let her have a full view. She did not recognize the women who looked back at her, Millicent seems pleased, smiling at her.

Asch clutches her throbbing hands and smiles back.

Haytham leans back in his chair, admiring the low candle lights glittering against the glasses of dark wine and tankards of ale. No one was bothering him, a rare occurrence of late, the noisy mix of the party and increasingly drunk soldiers making him less appealing company, less to do with him and more to do with his titles, and the healthy amount of fear they had for him. Haytham basked in it, smirking over the crowd as distant conversation drifted toward the bar. “Ah Master Kenway, enjoying yourself?” Haytham lazily flicks his stone gaze to the scratchy sound of his voice, “Colonel Hark,” He tips his head, sighing quietly as the man sat down in the captain of the forts abandoned spot. The fine chair creeks under the Colonel’s weight as he settles, slouched. Haytham’s nose scrunches slightly at the stink of beer, “It has been a fine night.” A dull one, but most of these were- and he was invited to so many. “Hmph- haven’t finished so much as half a glass.” He teases, flicking the glass, almost tilting it. Haytham stills it with a single finger, rolling his eyes in displeasure as he laughs loudly, “Oi! You, girl!” He hails with a heavy hand, jerking it until he got the attention of the nearest servant.

“S-Sir?” Haytham blinks up, stormy steel eyes widened a fraction, _her._

Her face was flushed, the apples of her cheeks reddened with exertion and breath visible in her chest as it moved. Well. At least he was right- _that hair was consumingly beautiful_. Utterly colorless, a fresh field of snow after a hard night of fall- and that _face._ Hark purrs, “Get me another drink.” Haytham shifts uncomfortably, the distaste of his tone leaving unpleasant tweaks. “What a _pretty_ little thing.” He muses, his attention captured in her retreat. Haytham swallows, his lip curling slightly as a sickness threated to lurch up from his belly. “And my does she look _little._ ” He has the nerve to nudge Haytham with his elbow, pointing out her return.

“S-Sir-“ She whispers, soft pretty grey eyes- much like his own- barely flicking up to place the glass down. Hark swipes the table with the back of his hand, knocking a few empty cups off, “Be a dear, sweetling.” He coos, _Foul._ Haytham glowers at the man, but he isn’t paying attention. “Y-Yes S-Sir- apologizes Sir.” She’s quick, placing them kindly back on the table, picking her dress up to stand, curtsying as rigid as a lady. Haytham tilts his head, _ever curious._ “Doesn’t she look best on her knees.” His voice was longing, almost dreamy as the filthy words pass his chapped lips. Haytham grunts irritably. “Should like to see her over a desk.” He grins, the beer in his mug sloshing onto the white tablecloth, adding yet another stain to the already ruined surface. A pang of guilt wells up in Haytham, _he knew exactly who would be cleaning this. “Would you now?_ He ponders, voice low and dangerous, “A man of your station should hardly be so crass about those underneath him- a pity, I had thought you slightly better than you were.” Haytham pushes himself up from the table, muttering in disappointment as he weaves through the crowd, most know to part for his passing, but some are too drunk and have to be carted to the side like cattle.

His eyes land upon Millicent, a moderately tolerable woman, she has been cleaning his quarters for some time now. She stood glaring at everything the servants under her watch were doing, “Millicent.” He says, kindly, if not tightly. Millicent’s eyes hit the floor, “Master Kenway.” Haytham folds his hands behind his back, fixing his posture high and tight “The girl you assigned to provide me tea in your absence.” He can see the hiking tighten of her shoulder blades, as if almost to ask _what has she done now?_ “Asch, Master Kenway?” _Asch._ Haytham’s face breaks into a grin that Millicent couldn’t see, _such a fitting name._

“I request her assistance to see to my quarters.” Millicent jumps slightly, “Oh- Yes- as you say Master Kenway-“ “For the remainder of my stay.” Millicent doesn’t linger, uniquely apt at understanding when the conversation expires and she is no longer needed, moving into the shadow of the room and disappearing beyond his sight. Haytham hums, smoothing his coat down as he moves to the exit.

Millicent seemed in a hurry; Asch’s eyes widen as she realizes Millicent’s purpose was her. She stands there, squirming as she squeezes her hands around the silver cup “You- drop that.” Asch does, and the clatter of it hitting the silver tray hurts her ears. “Master Kenway has seen fit to assign you to his personal quarters. You are to clean his room, make his tea and tidy the messes- _but you are to keep your hands and your eyes off his desk.”_ She barks, “Now pick up fresh linens and go about it. Now!” Asch’s skirts whirl around her legs. _One, two, three- seven._ Asch halts at the door, her toes touching the lacquered wood. The golden handle was cold to the touch, it made a terrible squeal when she turns it. Master Kenway was here, as she expected, but it still made stress of her work worse than it already was. He _noticed_ her now, she couldn’t escape those snow slushed gray eyes.

The motions were all the same, tidy the room, carry out the unclean dishes- repair the mess of the bed. He was a reserved man, the wrinkles the only indication he laid there at night and the dishes minimal. Master Kenway was a considerate visitor, a first that she has ever seen, usually men spend no mind to the mess they make, not even the kings men took so much care.

“You’re late.” A voice, warmer than fire and deeper than a chasm rattles through her without remorse of her nerves. _Never put your back to a beast_. Asch curses herself as she almost drops the ornate teacup. She still has the cup clutched in her hands as she spins around, curtsying so deep her knees could feel the rug hairs “I-I’m s-sorry Sir!” She’s desperate to not seem so pathetic, chancing a glance up at his face, she hopes he isn’t angry at her. It was obvious, disrespectful, she couldn’t hide doing it with the normal tricks, so she doesn’t try. _Might as well- since you’re already in trouble._ Millicent couldn’t possibly make the punishment worse.

He was sitting, leaning back in his chair, chin tilted with a pride he was born to flaunt. There was a smirk- she would dare to call it playful, _smug_ , because she already knows the man to be that way. Nothing was out of place, careful consideration went into each inch of himself, even at this late an hour he appears as perfect as he must have since the morning. He was _looking at her,_ brow cocked knowingly- he expected her too. Asch was frozen, betting it all on the man, and losing it. His hand beat her own, and he seemed _proud_ of it. His _eyes_ \- a silversmith couldn’t produce something so beautiful even if he worked with the finest materials. Glimmers and gold couldn’t cope with the icy darkness in the depths of his eyes. It was pure, molten silver softened by the kindness of his face. Asch swallows a lump in her throat, she was transfixed, stilled and stunted, a ship of sailors caught up in the clutches of sharp unforgiving rocky points.

“You’ve cleaned your face.” His voice punctured her ice prison, pulling her free of her posture- her _knees_ cracked as she rose, _God- he wasn’t speaking to her, was he?_ Was she to respond? Oh- what trouble it would be…

“Y-Yes- I… I’m very s-sorry sir-“ Asch grimaced, she could barely speak as it was, now she just sounded witless. “You dirtied it on purpose, with soot yes?” Master Kenway ponders, the smallest sound of a hum escaping him. Asch nods rapidly- stopping herself before she appeared even more foolish to him “Yes Sir.” She mutters, moving back to her chores. “Why?” The question was invasive, the plates click louder in her haste, “I- well…” He doesn’t seem bothered by her lack of answer, _yet._ “P-People don’t… look twice at filthy servants.”

“Do you not desire a second look?” The porcelain plates rattle with the shake of her hands, they were beautiful, wispy flowers and stocky leaves that circle the inner plate. They were painted with a careful hand, painted with great care, great thought. The flowers were in bloom, buds opening with the full pink flowers, a little reminder of spring in this dark wintertime. “N-No Sir-“ Asch was too aware of her bare face, not even the tendrils of her hair capable of hiding her, too tightly pinned down by Millicent’s work. “Had it ever occurred to you that doing all that, the soot and dye, made you more interesting?” He reasons, curious. Asch levels her gaze to the window, peering outside the frost coated panes of glass, the fractals of spidering frost overtaking the little imperfection groves etched in the windows very core.

“It- didn’t… until… _you._ ” For years she was a stain upon this fort, both in its body and mind. A little black splotch, like all the others, no different, no more special than the next. She liked that, liked being wipeable from memory, forgettable women were safe women. Haytham hums again, it was so pleasant to the ears, like a harp string plucked. The soft sound of wood scrapping against wood becomes the nosiest sound in the room, from the corner of her eye Asch can see Haytham moving from his desk, carrying his thick coat over his shoulders in a graceful, confident swish of fabric. He seems satisfied with his inquiry, his determination clear to only himself. As if any information he gathered about her held any value. Convenient entertainment for the sake of it. It was a first that she had ever been the subject of it, girls more interesting then her had been convenient entertainment too.

Asch wondered terrified as she carried the tray from the room if she was now his entertainment for the remainder of his stay.

For the last couple of days there had been no words or sight of Master Kenway, but it had been obvious he was here, every morning she left his tea at the table and repaired the wrinkles in his bed, nothing was out of place, his files specifically on the left side of his desk and the quill crossed over the spare parchment. Master Kenway was a tidy man, a specific tidy man. Each day it was clear he was testing with the papers and quill on his desk that he was trying to catch her touching it. A reason she avoided that side of the room, there was a game, of the kind? Trouble- that was all she dared to guess.

It was _easy_ to care for his quarters, it was always warm because it seemed he did not care to douse the fire, thoughtless or thoughtful- _thoughtlessly thoughtful?_ He was observant that much she knew; did he notice how badly she shivered? Surely, he had. Asch _hates_ to be noticed.

The warmth made her stray a while in her duties, stagnant as she trayed the cup and plates, sluggish when she smoothed the sheets down, she was comfortable, _drowsy_ even. The sheets were soft against her palms, against her cheek…

Asch felt scorching heat all around her, a warmth that exceeded anything she was used to, it was _wrong_. Asch jerks up, her senses thrown into a dimension she didn’t recognize, “Easy now.” The voice was amused, warm as the room. Asch rubs her eyes, stumbling up and tripping when the sheets betray her and coil around her legs. Her hands smack into the wall, steadying herself as she gathers her bearings, she was still in Master Kenway’s room, but unlike what she remembered, the sun was high in the sky and filling the room. It was well passed morning now, well passed the time she was to bring his tea and clean his bed- which she firsthand wrinkled herself- _It seems._

“Sleep well, I presume, Miss Chambers?” Master Kenway asks, eyes firm on his paperwork, quill adamant on the paper. “The bed will be needing new sheets.” Asch pulls the crumpled-up bedding, stuffing it in her face it to hide her treacherously red face. “Y-Yes Sir- I… I am s-so s-sorry Sir!” She practically squealing in mortification, tumbling out of the room in a flurry of fabrics.

She’s never slept so long or so well before; she was very disoriented- very in _trouble._ Other soldiers and servants don’t see anything different; she kept her face in her work as she ran the linens to the worker, waiting for them to provide her new ones. “Braids a bit undone,” Agatha, a kitchen girl whispers to her, a little laugh on her breath at Asch’s expense. Asch pets her hair, moaning pathetically “Let me help you,” Asch smiles over her shoulder as Agatha works the pins out, placing them between her lips, “This is tight- must hurt!” Agatha cringes, brushing her hair loose with her fingers. “Forgot how long you kept this- isn’t it heavy?” Asch bites her cheek as Agatha works the knots out with her hands, her head tugged back with each hard pull. “A little- but I like it this way.” Agatha hums, “It’s pretty, would you like it up?” Asch frowns softly at the question, Agatha peaks at her face, laughing, “Loose- I think, you’ll like it that way.” Agatha was very fast, her hands deft at the work. When they saw each other she always had interesting- if not a little improper kinds of styles. Going by feel alone, Agatha would be making a _very_ improper style.

Asch was thankful for it, even if it got her in trouble, her hair on its own wasn’t heavy, but piled atop her head? It made her neck hurt. “You could still have long hair, even if you cut it here,” Agatha grips a healthy portion of her hair, fisting it so she could feel how much length to cut. Asch shakes her head violently, “Alright- sorry I said anything.” Agatha chuckles, working her hands into Asch’s hair. There was a worming fear in her stomach that should have left with the apology, but it coiled around her, unreasonable tears prickled in the corner of her eyes.

“ _Your beauty is a blanket of snow, little angel, pure and innocent as a cloud.”_

_“Yes daddy.”_

Asch closes her eyes, lip curling back from her teeth- no she wouldn’t _cry_ she wasn’t a little girl anymore. To weep after something so long ago was a weakness, a silly thing to be upset about. Asch still caresses a stray lock of hair, uneasy as Agatha pets her shoulder, “All finished.” Asch twists at the waist to see her work, it was little more than a knot at the bottom of her hair, securing it from _truly_ being free- but it was not so modest, a loose leather tie the only weak attempt to keep her hair at bay from being free. A soft jingle gnaws at her ear, and it happens now when she moves, Asch pulls her hair over her shoulder rolling the tiny bell between her fingers, listening to it titter, Agatha giggles, “I found a few in the snow, do you like it? Must have fallen off a lady’s dress.” Asch shakes it a little, smiling as Agatha sways, making her own jingle.

“Miss, I’ve finished the linens- there was somethin’ else with the sheets.” The laundry boy gives her the folded linens, and a dark swath of cloth, folded kindly but largely untouched, the scent of tobacco and beer wafts from its dark threads. Asch colors darkly, this was Master Kenway’s cloak. He must have… “Ah, must have gotten mixed in with the bedding.” Agatha reasons, gathering up the linens and cloak together for her, neither of them notices her red face, Asch once more thanks the cold winter for covering the utter embarrassment she felt.

“Go on, someone must be expecting that back! “Agatha nudges her side with a pat, giggling as the bell jingles with her hurried movements. Asch herself finds a little smile; despite the impending doom of trouble it’ll bring her.

Asch greets Mikken at the door, he laughs too, at the bell and they let her go, and her mind is on everything else, the snow, the sun and the bubbly feeling she hadn’t expected to have, until she ends up at room _seven._ He was still there, the door was half open like she left it, Master Kenway sat at his desk, but now there were more papers stacked up to the side. Asch hurries inside, laying the sheets out, hesitating at his cloak as it mocked her atop the unfolded linen.

“Ah, she returns-” Master Kenway’s voice overpowers the room, “And with bells on it seems.” From the corner of her eye she can see his head cocked up, Asch grabs at her hair, pulling it behind her back at attention, “I-I’m sorry Sir-“ she makes to remove it, but Master Kenway exhales in amusement, pausing her fingers, “It doesn’t bother me.” Asch drops it, nodding again, it makes a traitorous chime. Asch works as fast as she can, smoothing the wrinkles and packing the blankets, the final thing she does is gently, without ruining the folds, she leaves his cloak upon his pillow, scurrying out of the room, and nearly bolting when she hears him laugh at the jingling.

Asch was surprised she hadn’t found trouble yet for her hair, of course, she wasn’t going out of her way to find it. Millicent was busy with the other officers of the fort, that, arguably, were worse than Master Kenway in their demands. Captain Quinn liked food brought to his room at very strange times, extra linens- and not to mention if he was entertaining, he was extra insufferable. Master Kenway kept to himself, had no one enter his room for leisure and barely stayed himself it seemed, the man had no habits to study, must less predict. Though he looked like the kind of man who didn’t like people understanding him. Asch left it at that.

“Asch dear!” Agatha calls, waving her whole arm to grab her attention, “you’ve finished with your chores, right? There’s a little get together in the kitchen going on! I want you to come, Ben made some wine and we’ve got the boys playing music!” Asch must have showed the displeasure she had for the idea on her face, because Agatha laughs and tugs her before she can make an excuse and escape. “Come on! It’ll be fun- I think Dylan will be there- that boy fancies you.” Asch had no choice, “I don’t fancy him-“ she huffs, Agatha giggles wildly, her face already pink and feet stumbling, already drunk. “You should! He’s handsome!” Asch never saw him without a dirty hat and a scuffed face. “Just give it a chance! You can leave later if you don’t like it!”

Asch sighs, nodding as if she had the choice, they were practically there already with all her insistent tugging. Asch never went _before_ , there wasn’t much of a reason to _go._ “Hello! Look who I dragged here!” Everyone cheers, but she knows they don’t really _know_ what they are cheering for, they all looked red faced and drunk as Agatha.

“Come! Dance!” Agatha yanks her again into the circle of other dancers, spinning her to the music made by violins and drums. Asch sees how excited Agatha looks, and doesn’t wish to dampen her spirits by being difficult, so she picks up her skirts and twirls to the music, finding that the more she lets go, the more joy she feels.

Haytham sighs, leaning back with a sag of finality to his shoulders, the day had been long, and he hadn’t left his desk in hours. _With that done…_ Haytham peers at the bed, it had been well made, and- _Oh._ He chuckles, his cloak had been left neatly atop the pillow. _How thoughtful_. Haytham grabs it, undoing the fold and throwing it over his shoulders, it was far to late for any kind of dinner, and he found himself expiring at the idea of going yet another day without eating anything. Haytham chews his tongue, weighing his options, too cold to leave, too late to command someone to make something- at least, he _thought_ so. A simple plate of cheese, fruit and wine couldn’t be hard to gather up for himself.

Haytham leaves with a flutter of his cloak, burying his face in his collar as he makes his way across the field of snow toward the kitchens and servants’ area. Some guards greet him, Haytham waves them off, too cold for anything more pleasant. The winters were so harsh here and it didn’t look to be letting up for some time now, some said it would linger until late March, a shame, really, spring here was very pretty- if not muddy. But Haytham never turned his nose up at a little dirt on his boots. Boston was a city up and coming, soon, if the locals were to be believed, it would flourish. There was plenty of naked land, ripe for building potential, the method of acquiring these lands and deeds were more than a little questionable. Haytham himself helped many local natives when their ideals aligned. _Ziio,_ a fond and close at heart memory. She might like to forget more than he did, after discovering his true purpose in the colonies, but Haytham still considered his time with her well spent. Ziio had been unwell the last they had spoken, but her determination to see him from her lands fiery and full of rage. Haytham had always toyed with the idea of returning, it had been a few months only, a women’s anger was a fickle thing, she couldn’t hold him in in the same content she had started with, could she?

It might be best; he did not fit in her world and she would never fit in his. Her skin, his work… the malice it might create between them, the independence she deserved that she could never have if she joined him in this new world. Best to leave the past dead and buried, a memory to hold in nights as cold as this one.

Music caught his ear when he came to the stairs, growing louder as he came to the bottom of it, cheers and conversation filled the stone cellar. Haytham steps quietly, attention perked, the strange feeling of intruding stayed with him as he entered. He felt as if he should not be here, but he already was, so no harm in finishing his quest. They were having some kind of party from the look; drinks being passed around in wooden aged cups and music for dancing. Haytham fills a plate with grapes, cheese and a spare bottle of wine, watching with slight happiness for them, then he pauses, curious as he saw a flash of white hair.

A quirked smile of pure amusement breaks across his face, _Asch._ She was pink in the face, exhausted by the heaving of her chest, but she still spun around in the wide circle, hand and hand with another women. The clear joy on her face made something warm bubble in his chest, he almost laughed aloud when he heard the jingling bell erratically tittering with her rapid movements. She seemed so free, unworried about herself, her hair was barely contained by the knot, flying freely around her face like dangerous bursts of chilly air. As pale as a thick fog dusted with blush and a pretty smile. His heart struggles, pounding in his chest at the sight of it.

Haytham leaves without a sound to disturb them, the cold no longer bothering him.

Asch was in good spirits today, Agatha had been right- she was _always_ right about these things, so she said. Regardless of her smug grin this morning, Asch was _happy_. Mikken greets her at the door, her smiling warming his cheeks as she went, giggling like a mess of a women. Master Kenway had left a small mess this time around in his room, a plate of crumbs and a left-over vine of grapes absently sitting on a silver plate. There was a wine bottle on his desk, open and ruined now, but she refused to touch that.

Asch hums, all by herself and enjoying the sun that bled through the room, picking the old candles and placing them in a basket outside to take away, plopping the new ones with a joy she hadn’t felt in an age. Asch spins, overtaken by the music in her head, something warm and _large_ hits her, hands rest on her waist to still her. Asch’s eyes flutter open and widen in shock, “Enjoying yourself?” Master Kenway has a cocked grin, the handsome turn of his lip making her heart ache in her chest. She doesn’t have a moment to realise that she’s being horribly disrespectful before his hand is reaching for her and she’s spinning into the room, skirts flaring around her like an opening tulip. Asch grabs her dress, wind knocked out of her as she turns back to find Master Kenway at his desk. Asch laughs quietly, seeing the little smile stuck on his face. Master Kenway was such a strange man, no lord or otherwise had ever been so tolerant, in fact they would have found great joy in causing her trouble. She couldn’t understand him, some rumors said he was a cruel man, but soldiers liked to talk about better men, make them vicious and terrifying- twist up stories of things they seen to worry the servants. They said Master Kenway was short tempered as he was intelligent, ruthless and hard, that he would sooner shoot a man dead than listen to his prattling, but that couldn’t be so? He was reasonable with all her silliness, his voice warm as honey in her ears. _Because you’re a woman._ They would say, Men with class never behaved crossly in the presence of a lady. _Plenty did._

Asch pets the bed, making sure there wasn’t a single wrinkle before begrudgingly moving away, longing to stay just a moment more, she hesitates at the door, wondering if he would say something- _anything._ He doesn’t, but she hardly expected him too. Asch gathers her basket up in her arms, propping it gently on her hip as she stalked off, her heart absent from her chest and abandoned in the room with the strange Master Kenway.

More day’s pass with the absence of Master Kenway, her mind lost with wherever he was, it was _dreamy,_ too dreamy for her to be dreaming. She couldn’t help thinking about that arrogant smile, the way his voice sounded when he was teasing her, it was too much for her _not_ to dream about. Unfair, really, swooning over a sophisticated, army man who gave her little in passing, his amusement of her extended only to his stay, and Asch couldn’t bear to think about the day she was told there would be no need for her to return. Asch shakes the sheet loose, papers fly off the desk beyond the edge of the linen and Asch’s stomach drops like lead- _no._ Asch clutches the sheets, stopping it, but it had already done the damage, so many loose sheets fly up and flutter to the ground, spread all over the room. Asch’s heart pounds, she was not to touch anything on that desk, it was beat into her. she couldn’t leave it like that could she? No, he had entertained her harmless infractions, but _that._ Asch races to pick them all up, looking between the desk and chair, under the bed and picking up at least eight missing sheets. _He would know_. If she could explain it- Asch places them in the middle of the desk, that wasn’t where they belonged, but if she didn’t read it-

_Johnson is in the beginning of purchasing land near the outskirts of Delaware._

_God._ Asch curses, loudly and without care if she was heard. Asch finishes the sheets, knowing that had to be done, dread filling her to the brim as she waited for the moment, he came through the door just as all the other times before, it was worse when he didn’t. What was she going to do? She _had_ to explain what happened to his papers, that she didn’t read them _. He would know you’re lying_ , a man like him, he would know the moment he measured her face. Asch whimpers, swallowing tears as she runs from his room, expecting any moment to be told she would never set foot there again.

Haytham rubs his eyes tiredly, shaking the sleep from his shoulders as he pushes open the oak door, heavily pressing weight into its solid frame, it was a long day, a fruitless one at that. No one could be trusted to get anything done unless he had a hand in its success, what would this order have been if not for him? Haytham shudders to think as he tosses his hat upon the bed, swaying his gaze toward his well used desk- a small frown grows large on his face as he notices, with little effort, that everything was out of place. Haytham brushes his fingers over the surface, out of order too, but neatly placed back as kindly as they could be, not a wrinkle on the parchment. Haytham glares at it, flicking his eyes to the utterly neat bed, _hm._

“Curious.”

Haytham exits, the door slamming behind him in a rush rattling the frame.

It was all so usual here, so definitely the same that Haytham was becoming dull and accustom to nothing changing, a blade growing old on a mantle. “You there.” He bites, scowling as the soldiers jump at his presence, surprised. “Sir!” They both say in unison, frightened by his tone. “Find me the girl that cleans my chambers, now.” They are moving before he finishes, jumping through the heavy snow to get to the path, too shocked to use the stone one cleaned off this morning. Haytham stands there, the cold seeping into his bones, soaking into his very mind. There he waited, watching with a hard eye and stone face until the soldiers returned, one of their hands clawing at her upper arm, dragging her as if she was a criminal.

Haytham’s jaw flexes as they shove her into the snow before him, “Found her Sir, what she gone and done?” Haytham exhales sharply, the fog filling his vision before he undoes his cloak, throwing it over her shaking shoulders, “Idiots.” He bites, his clothes dwarf her completely, overtaking her shivering body with a shock of dark colors. Asch stumbles into him as he pulls her by the elbows up to his chest, tugging the edges around her in a cocoon, “Leave.” His voice hisses through clenched teeth, itching to roll his wrist to expose his blade and shove it in the soldier’s neck.

“I-I’m s-so sorry S-Sir- I didn’t- I didn’t see _anything,_ I p-promise.” Asch begins to babble, warm tears falling from her eyes, turning cold on her cheeks, “T-They were- The _sheet-_ “ Haytham silences her, letting her bury her frozen face in the wool line of his cloak. “Come now, inside.” Asch doesn’t take anything more than his words to go, her feet bear and a dripping with slush, red from the harsh winter the soldiers forced her to stumble in.

Haytham stokes the fire, placing a chair in front of it, Asch lifts her feet to the warmth of the flames, teeth chittering behind her clenched mouth. “I didn’t mean too-“ She cries, insisting, wiping her face with the heels of her palms. Haytham carts his hand through her hair, unable to help himself, _it was soft_ , stiff because of the cold, but velvet against his fingers. “That isn’t why I called you here.” _Well._ It had been, but now it seemed a small worry. Asch peers at him, unafraid of the consequences, her tender eyes darkened with tears, he noticed long ago they were the same as his own, a beauty where his were hard, a softness where his were steel. Wet ashes flutter and draw him away, back into the reality of the situation. “Does what you saw mean anything to you?” She couldn’t resist looking, he knew that much, no one could, and he had waited to see how long it would have taken her, but no matter the bait he laid out, she was respectful- an _accident_ of all things. He could have laughed if he didn’t feel so miserable about the whole thing.

“No- not… a thing, Sir- just s-something about someone purchasing land.” _Ah._ One of the less… dangerous things in the pile. Haytham had grown careless. “I-I’m s-sorry I should have left it- t-they f-flew all… all over the room b-by accident.” Haytham strokes a lock of her hair, “Its fine, its alright.” He presses, what had they done to her to make her so afraid of him? What now stood before him was a choice: He could simply leave, profess himself a coward as only the action could allow, or, he could throw all his inhibition and sense to the wind, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so in his short life, He just as well, assumes it will not be his last.

 _“Asch...”_ Her name falling from his lips caused a great stir of confusion, as if she never expected him to know it in the first place. Fear too, he could see, and _suspicion,_ her eyes were too much like his own. “My stay here is ending soon.” Haytham says lightly, watching a mix of emotions cloud her face, it was endearing she couldn’t hide any of it, _God she was sad too._ Haytham felt his chest swell, “A month or so,” She was crestfallen, pretending to not be, Haytham settles on his knee, comfortable as he gazes up at her, the soldiers left her unworried of punishment, or she was not as afraid of him as he thought. “I would like to spend some of the time I have left here in your company.”

Asch blinks, the silence deafening as his words settle around her, making there way through her, “I… would like that.” His heart was beating badly from the outcome, but in his mind, he knew the answer. Haytham rights himself, nodding curtly, though a smile was stuck to his face. “Make use of the room tonight, I have business in the city… avoid the desk.” Her cheeks darken with his teasing. He doubts she will stay; a foolish small hope was stubborn in his chest that she would.

“Sir!” Charles stands with horses at the entrance of the fort, amusingly at attention, “Where is your cloak, Sir?” A puzzled, attentive blue eye flicks over Haytham’s broad shoulders, as if expecting to find it. “Oh, left on my bed.” He says absently, pride keeping his back straight while the warmth in his chest keeps the cold at bay. Charles shifts his boots in the snow, it was knee deep now, likely to only get higher. The horses have the good sense to shift on their feet, lifting two hooves at a time to keep them from feeling the biting cold. “Shall we be off?” Haytham mounts the fidgeting palomino, watching Charles frown in consideration, perhaps waiting for good sense to overcome his mentor- he would be waiting a long time.

The horse is the first to back down, moving with a huff to the rut in the walk, flicking its hooves of snow and shakes Haytham as he tosses the light flakes off his back. Charles is left to catch up as Haytham lulls his horse into walking. “I could have gotten it for you.” _As if I would let you._ Haytham smirks at his own thoughts, “It’s hardly needed Charles, if I wanted it, I would not have left it behind.” The only part of him that was cold were his fingers, and he easily duck them under his sleeves. “Strange that you had,” Charles muses, voice almost swallowed by the wind, “I’d say you look strange without it, were it you look any different.” He sounded jealous, of all things to feel. He was ducked in his own coat, shivering miserably. “I should offer you the same, Charles. You appear terribly cold- shall I fetch something for you?” His taunts are met with a deadly frown that he simply chuckles at, Charles seems as if he wants to ask what has gotten into him, Haytham might tell him, were it he asked- he was feeling rather charitable tonight.

“Our man is in the thick of the forest, encamped by a frozen pond.” Charles informs, goading him to worry about the cold, Haytham agrees, letting the horses trot elate his mood, “Snow falls from the treetops regularly.” Haytham raises his brows, a smirk present on his face as Charles regards him, as if daring him not to turn around, “You should like to find a hat then, Charles, your ears might get cold.” Birds lift from the canopy from the sound that escapes Charles.

Haytham has the good sense to worry about snow getting into his boots and avoiding the shaky tops of branches as they trek on foot to the camps, Charles struggles valiantly with the Boston snow, his cursing the loudest thing between them besides his clumsy footing. If it wasn’t so amusing Haytham would have suggested he follow behind in Haytham’s deep tracks like a child, but the man is short of patience and nursing damaged pride. “So, what do you plan to do?” Haytham, presses his feet into the snow, sinking under his own weight, content to stay as Charles levers himself up, huffing an exceptionally steep breath. Haytham places his hands behind his back, eyes sweeping across the quiet camp. Men were huddled around the fire, rubbing their cold bare hands in front of its flames. It was easy to find them, the smoke from the fire gave away their position a mile back. “Round the camp, take those three and-“ Haytham pulls the loaded pistol from his belt, aiming, and firing at the shadow in the tent beside the fire.

The men scramble, stumbling over each other to get the weapons at their feet, bumping into each other like foals finding their legs. “Sir!” Charles balks as Haytham unhurriedly holsters his pistol and onlooks the chaos ensuing the camp. “It would have taken longer- aren’t you cold?” Haytham harasses, a knowing grin plastered across his handsome face, watching the fumes on Charles face coax into a rage, “Why did you make me come if you were just going to do that!” He hisses, but its lessened as he trips in the snow, “What? And have you learn nothing? A poor mentor I make to allow that.” Haytham calmly steps in his old footfalls, chin high with pride and an air of arrogance that wouldn’t be quelled by the wind, “Smarter Charles, not _harder.”_ He receives grumbling in response, allowing the insolence to go unchecked, he was far too _happy._

 _“_ Come now Charles, look lively, I will purchase the drinks.” Some of the ire melted away with that, “Shivering is unbecoming of you.” Charles glares flatly at him.

Asch toyed with her hair, frustrated and undoing it for the sixth time. She couldn’t get her own hair to cooperate- how Millicent or Agatha managed it was a mystery, At least they knew how to braid, Asch ruffles her hair loose, growling angrily at her own reflection. The bell sits absently on the lip of the shelf, Asch picks it and ties a simple knot at the bottom of her hair again, swaying to listen to the jingle. She shouldn’t be fretting for so long, she had duties to attend, but the closer she came to doing them, the more nervous she felt.

_“I would like to spend some of the time I have left here in your company.”_

Master Kenway had startled her, she thought she was in grave trouble, perhaps it started out that way. The soldiers were adamant as they tugged her groggily out in the cold, dumping her before his feet in the snow like a sack of flour. The scorching fury that consumed his face when he pulled her up from the dune, almost off her feet with the force and power of it. At the time she didn’t know if it was for her or them, but he became so soft behind his doors, gentle with his hand when it came through the tangles of her hair.

Asch begun to believe the rumors; he must be a dangerous man. Mikken and the other guard, David, were no longer at the gate today, two new ones replaced them, and Asch worried what might have become of them, hoping Master Kenway didn’t do anything for her sake. These ones don’t greet her as she passes, they don’t bother to even look at her, their attention high and still. She could have mistaken them for statues, but for the fog of breath in front of their faces. One thing she knew: those men did not work in the fort, it at all didn’t help the nerves, the empty stone hall suffocating her as she went al the way to the end, as if it shrunk.

Asch almost bumped into Master Kenway as he came through the door, jumping back like a spring hare as he straightened to his full, intimidating height, “Asch,” her name was spoken so fondly, heat filled her cheeks at the penetrating _honey_ sound of his voice. “Sir.” Asch curtseys, gripping her dress to stop her hands from trembling. “Haytham.” He corrects, “What do you have there?” His eyes wander to the basket behind her, Asch licks her dry lips, “Your cloak, Sir- _Haytham.”_ Oh, did that feel strange, she fluttered a little at his approving smile. “I trust it served you well last night, it was quite cold.” Asch watches him, mesmerized as he refastens it over his shoulders. “Yes- I… thank you it was too kind of you.” She stumbles over her words, lost in the spark of his eyes. In truth she took it off as soon as he left, debating whether to leave it on his bed when she scampered out of the room. Ultimately, he _told_ her to keep it with her, so Asch saw no harm in leaving with it. Still, she didn’t dare to wearing longer than she ought to, it smelt too much like him and hurt her chest.

“I suppose you won’t be needing it- unless you’d like it?” He was frustratingly disarming, “no Si- Haytham.” He hums at her correction, offering his arm. Asch was hesitant to take it and his was maddingly patient ”I don’t bite.” He opens his palm, exposed, vulnerable, it was anything but, in the low glint of the brazier light, a blade tucked into his wrist shines, Asch eyes it, then himself, a smile growing into a fearful one. “You have nothing to fear from me,” Haytham flicks his wrist, the slide of the blade releasing from its hidden sheath hardly makes a sound, Asch gasps, covering her mouth with her hands to stop the scream that threated to bubbled up from her chest. Just as quickly as it appeared, Haytham cocks it back, hiding it from her sight.

“You are no simple soldier are you, Master Kenway?” Asch whispers, the prickles of terror wiggling into her mind, it was telling her to _leave,_ but she was defying it as she took his arm in hand. “Of a kind,” he says, vaguely, “But that is a story for another time.” It was final, his honey voice edged with a sort of metal that she chooses not to push, _would it be?_ Was he weighing whether she was worth the tale?

“Of a kind then.” A dangerous kind. Haytham’s smirk was devious, but as they walk into the light of day it softens from his face, and the mask he must present the ordinary world overtakes his face, “You curtsy with elegance, where did you learn such a thing?” Asch would have been insulted by any other man, but his curiousness was gentle and genuine. “Watching.”

His brow raises, “Is that so? Watching who?” There were no ladies to speak of here, seldom ever was, and Asch never served them. “My mother,” a longing ache fills her as the joy of her memory returns, “She served ladies- she would practice for hours when I was little.” Haytham watches her warmly, “My father was much the same it sounds. Though he did not speak half as well.” Asch swallows, kneading his sleeve in her hand “You aren’t a nobleman, are you?”

“Of a kind,” he teases again, “How could you tell?”

Asch was relieved he didn’t take offense “You are simple-“ She breaks off with a red blush when he laughs abruptly, “Not- not _simple_ -“ she stammers, looking for the right words, “You… you aren’t making yourself more than what you are…” She continues when he grows quiet, “You’ve nothing to prove.” Asch cringes at her poor attempt, “The more you may find, the less you may like.” He mutters, thoughtfully, peering off into the snowy forest they pass, “Apt observation, my father was a privateer, but I was a child of fortunate circumstance, not of nobility. I became what I am despite him.” His words hold not so secret pain, biting at something invisible to her but clear in his own mind, _despite him._ The contempt in his voice was sharp as any weapon. “My father was a sweet man,” She tries to soothe the snarl on his face, “He died when I little- he’s to thank for my hair.” Haytham smiles, but it looks tired on his face, “He told me when I was born by his hand the ashes of the fire tickled my face and he knew.” Haytham was dreadfully quiet, his mind somewhere else.

Asch toys with her lip, “Do you like snow, Haytham?” He blinks, “Snow? I suppose I have no feelings for it.” Asch grins, pulling away from him, she _hated_ it herself, but a bit of cold never hurt anyone. Haytham watches dumbfounded as she steps into the dunes, straying off the path, “You are going to freeze.” He calls yet moves forward into it himself. Asch gets as far as a few stray pines surviving at the forest edge before he catches up to her, the warmth of him behind her is heavy, the looming presence of his broad frame makes hairs stand up on the back of her neck more than the cold ever could. Asch spins, arms tight to her chest as she cranes her head to be able to see his eyes. The intense opposite of the cold tree against her back and the scorching heat at her front made a violent shiver knock up her spine, eyes as hungry as she ever seen them flick between her eyes and mouth.

Haytham leans to close the distance, the anticipation shuddered out of her chest as she lifts on her tip toes to meet him, only to be assaulted with a heavy fall of snow that leaves her stunned and freezing, shrieking for dear life. Haytham balks, recoiling at the snow piling onto his shoulders and in the gaps of his tricorn hat. Asch squeals, pushing to hide in his cringing state, listening to his harsh breath flee from his chest.

 _Now,_ he might just hate snow.


	3. Chapter 3

If someone tried to describe what walking on air felt like, they might start with what it felt like to swim, to fall from a great height, but Asch would describe it as the sound of his voice, the scent of his clothes and the smile on his face. _Eyes like a promise he shouldn’t make._ Yes, Haytham Kenway like floating on air, he was the sun and stars and even something more that Asch wasn’t poetic enough to describe.

Danger ran in him like blood, not obvious, but there, he had shown some of that danger days ago. The Subtleties of it were unknown, unless they already knew what to look for. By that point it was either already too late or she was… _what?_ An ally? A convenient, observant women that he would forget the moment his time here was spent. The sands of a dreadful hourglass spent as the days went by with her fruitless counting, He would leave before the new year was brought to them, what his plans for it wasn’t something she asked, in fact she couldn’t keep further away from the subject if she tried.

Winter had settled in with a vengeance, seemingly determined to undermine any plans of expansion this fort had. Supplies were covered in snow and ice, builders too cold to attempt at cracking the sleet sealed stone. Much was the same, the days becoming eerily similar to the next, work becoming light and men moving less. Haytham hadn’t slowed in the slightest, unexpectedly spry in the cold, as if it truly didn’t affect him.

Asch wouldn’t be caught cancelling a single occasion? _Date?_ Meeting. That he set for them, though they continued to be outings through the forest, walking amongst the wildlife. One would think he didn’t want to be overheard, but she knew that- she just wished she understood _why_ it was so important for him to remain the strange visitor here. It was going well, if the amount of times he met with her were to be an indication. But it wasn’t growing _deeper_ , as she feared it would remain, she blathered on about herself and he was content to let her, whispering whatever he choose to in response, revealing so far he had an estranged half-sister living back in London and a man he considered more a father to him then his own blood, Reginald Birch.

He spoke little of his sword training, the work he put into it, as any man would- but Asch knew he wasn’t bragging as all men tended to do, in fact, he looked reluctant to speak of it. Asch minded none of it, discarded the voice in her head that spoke to how bad an idea this could be, begged her to call into question exactly who this man might be. Because his _voice_ was something of a story, something ballads were written too, the sweet face of a devil- the song of a sinner. Asch was falling for the beauty that beheld the monster, and she _wanted_ for nothing under his eyes, his gaze of sharpened steel and face of Adonis. The messengers of misfortune were always the most enticing, and Asch awaits her red letter at the end of the trail.

Two horses came around the corner obscured by the pines, one muddy chocolate and another milk white. Haytham was at home on the beast, moving with the jerky trot, a smile that was all too arrogant on his face, head held prouder than a king. He slides gracefully from the horse, bowing gentlemanly as she curtsied, “Good evening, Asch.” He says, hand waiting for her. Asch smiles, “Hello Haytham.” She’s brought to the white horse, surely on purpose, but his face betrays nothing as he politely helps her on to the horse. “I hope a journey into the city would be a welcome change tonight.” Asch hadn’t been to the city in years. “More than welcome- what do you have planned?” Haytham cocks an elegant brow, and kicks his horse into a trot, “What fun is it if I tell you that?” He calls, looking over to her. Asch exhales, smiling lopsidedly as she catches up to him, once on the open roads they slowed, Asch enjoys the quiet beauty of the bare land and fading sun. It would be late when they returned. “Am I at least dressed well enough for whatever you have planned?” Appearances worried her the most, Haytham had so far kept their meetings private, perhaps he was embarrassed to be in the company of a servant, the thought certainly crossed her mind more than once, and she took great effort to make herself look anything but with the little money she had. Two dresses were more than a month’s pay, and she had to ask Agatha to help her, at the expense of doing her chores on top of Asch’s own. But it was well worth it so long as Haytham appeared to be in the presence of better company than she was. Today she wore a deep blue dress, if he knew the choice of color was because of him he did not make a comment of it and said nothing about the bloody red one she also picked- to her own peril, she was sentimental.

The only tells he gave were lingering gazes at the fabrics, and sometimes, a flexed jaw if she caught him looking where it was less than chastised.

“You always are, darling.” The cold couldn’t penetrate the sheer heat she felt erupt across her face. _Darling._ Asch heard it in her head over and over, his voice etched in her mind and committed to the deepest part, she would have that, for if he left her and she never saw him again, she would have just that.

“Did your mother teach you how to ride?” He breaks her out of her mantra, keeping her hung on every word, “Yes- how could you tell that?” She grins, watching him move closer to her side “Sidesaddle.” They speak to each other like it was a game of who could deduce more of the other, a battle of wits and banter. Asch’s laugh is full, “Because a man would never.”

“A _man_ could never.” He shoots back, that was true, Asch could barely. What chance did a man have?

The cold wind irritated Asch’s bare ears, she shouldn’t have insisted so hard to Agatha about making an elaborate hairstyle. The voluptuous crown braid was both far from the truth and _heavy_. Agatha said she looked as pretty as any queen, but Haytham hadn’t said a word about it. The bells tittered in her hair, wholly _not sneaky_ of Agatha to put them, she was jingling like church bells, still, she felt so pretty when she saw herself.

Agatha was so excited to hear about Master Kenway taking an interest, making grand stories of him whisking her away from this life, making Asch promise to never forget her when she was his _wife._ Asch wouldn’t pretend her stories didn’t give her hope, but it was unreasonable to make plans and dream about something that could never happen. She was in far too good of spirits to abandon Agatha to her musings, embracing her talk of _wedding dresses and babies._ Even promising to help Agatha find a gentlemen for all she had done, because if anyone else in the fort found out, Asch couldn’t measure the trouble she would be in from it. Agatha was the single reason she wasn’t found out yet. What had she done to deserve someone so devoted as her? Asch never made it easy to be her friend, miserable as she was, but she was patient and sweet. If anyone deserved to leave that fort with better prospects, it was Agatha.

“Finding it cold?” Haytham looks boyish with that knowing smile on his face, all too ready to give her his cloak again. Asch took a page from _his_ book and sat so proud and prettily she thought her spine would crack in protest, the arrogance wiping off on her when she tilted her chin just as high as him. _Be ever the lady_. “Not enough to trouble you, Sir.” She uses the term playfully now, his eyes narrow in suspension, her cheeks might start hurting from all the smiling he was making her do. “I do so like the trouble, _my lady._ ” The smile faltered from her face, but Haytham’s eyes were now on the road ahead of them, careful and aware of the people they now had to avoid with their horses. _My lady._ What a sweet lie of him to make. Asch could pretend all she wanted, but she would never be one- she could fool and feel like a lady, maybe Haytham would make her an honest one, but she would always feel like a pretender.

Asch reserved herself in her seat as they trotted into town, there were _actual_ ladies roaming the streets, and the notion of her prancing around _proud_ of herself was lost, instead she tried to soak in the city, looking upon all the new shops. There was certainly more to it than she remembered, buildings taller and wider, it really took shape as a city in her absence. _Father would have loved it_ ; she thinks in misery.

“We’ve arrived.” Haytham says, moving off his horse, she didn’t need it, but he helped her down, guiding her hand to his arm as he took her into the modest tavern. _The Green Dragon._ Asch reads while he escorts her inside. This was not a place for ladies or _otherwise_ , it was full of men and the stench of them. Asch considered why he might decide this was an appropriate place to take her and liked nothing she came up with. Her dress almost seemed to formal, embarrassedly telling that she had enlarged her expectations of the evening.

“Haytham!” Someone shouts for him, drawing her eyes to a wide and well-loved table. Haytham leads her over, despite not being hailed herself. One of the men seem keen about her, “Who’s this now, Haytham?” Everyone at the table turned their eyes to her, the raise of color on her cheeks unhelpful to her as her nerves began to split at the seams, pulling apart by their questing- _lecherous_ onlooking. Her throat was too stuffed with cotton for anything but a forced smile, and a terribly deep curtsy that gets the full attention of all five of them. “First lady I have evea’ seen willingly step foot ‘ere.” Another comments, nudging his elbow into his companion, who smirks around the lip of his drink.

“Gentlemen, be kind.” He orders with ice in his tone, “This is my valentine, Asch Chambers.” Asch flushed badly at his choice of introduction, unprepared as they all were to hear it- at least it told her one thing, _Haytham did not frequently have ladies in their company._ There was a giddy shake in her fingers as he presents her a seat at the round table close to his own. _These were his friends._ Asch swallows, desperate to get a handle on herself, _He was introducing her to his friends._

“Darling, this is Thomas Hickey, Benjamin Church, William Johnson, John Pitcairn, and Charles Lee.” Right to left she committed the names to her mind; it would be impolite to forget them. Charles, the last and on Haytham’s right smiles wide and kindly, something knowing about it. “Such a pleasure, my lady.” Asch clasps her hands together in her lap, willing them to still, “It’s very nice to meet you all.” Most all of them offer her a tense smile, but it doesn’t reach their eyes, the palpable fear instead leaves her to wonder the nature of the relationship they share. Charles seemed to be the only one comfortable, leaning into Haytham’s space as he nursed whatever was in the tankard.

“Let me find us something to drink.” Haytham touches her arm politely, leaving to the bar and alone with his friends, like a baby alone in the woods full of wolves. “How is it you came to meet Haytham?” Charles pries, scrutiny in his eyes as they roved across her. All of them were assessing her worth, it was a test wasn’t it? To see what his friends thought of her, whether he should continue to indulge her presence in his life. Asch presses her lips together; this could very well be the last she could see of Haytham.

Another matter entirely was if she should be truthful of her origin, she wasn’t ashamed for herself, but for Haytham’s sake she was. “At the fort he’s currently staying… I work as a chambermaid.” She awaits the moment they all curl their lip in disgust, they looked like men of established means, men of that kind that would turn their nose up.

“Do ya’ now?” Thomas pipes up, as if he couldn’t help it, “Must know lots of secrets ‘bout the men workin’ there.” Asch stares at the table, tracing the wooden imperfections with her eyes, “She is a lady, Thomas, stay your filth in her presence.” Charles, to her shock, comes to her aid with a growl, a deep-set frown overtaking his face. “Thank you…” she whispers, only loud enough for him to hear, the man beams, uplifting her own spirits. “Must have been at least some interesting gossip, hm?” Benjamin inquires, head tilted toward the conversation. “A little- but it’s a bit rude…” Asch shouldn’t have said it, the whole table turned to her attention, waiting balefully, what did they want with silly rumors from a faraway fort that had little value?

“Well- one of the captains… seems to have... caught _something.”_ Asch hides the smile behind her hand, “He won’t leave his chambers for anything but doctors’ visits- and I’m told he’s grown weak.” Now she felt more than pathetic, spreading rumors around like a bored wife. “Is that right? That’s interesting…” William mutters offhandedly, scratching his chin. “Which captain might that be?” Charles prods, leaning over the table, then sitting straight, and schooling himself like the rest. Asch’s mouth parts slightly, “What are you pestering her about, Charles?” Haytham’s warm voice prickles her attention, his hands full of glass drinks as he places them in front of their seat.

“Hardly a thing, Sir, your lovely companion was simply informing us a captain at the fort you’re currently staying is ill.” There’s a pregnant pause, Asch felt uncomfortable by it, quickly sipping the wine Haytham arrived with to occupy herself before she started to squirm. “Discussion for another time, I think. We are, after all celebrating.” Haytham says, rolling the short wide glass of wine in his hand before sipping it leisurely.

“Ah yes, then a happy birthday is in order.” Charles grins, taking it upon himself to click Haytham’s glass with his own. The color drains from her face, “It’s your birthday?” Haytham grins devilishly, “His twenty-second, to be exact.” John adds, lifting his glass before generously tipping it back.

“I wish you told me! I would have gotten you something!” Asch protests, no one else had anything to give Haytham, Charles hailed a barmaid to ask after a cake, but nothing in his hand as he settled back. “Your company is a gift.” He coos, grinning at her expense. “How- i-is it you all came to know one another?” They give each other a series of looks, ones after the other deciding who might speak up and explain to her some fabricated story. “Mutual interests, mostly. Men of a like mind, working to better the colonies.” Charles fills, eyeing Haytham wearily, as if something he said might be out of line.

It was all so secret, something they just weren’t telling her, none of them were men that would tolerate prying questions, that little was told by their affirmed faces, the danger, subtle or not, made her oddly feel _safe._ As if those affirmed nods toward Haytham meant she was _worth_ the trouble. Whatever the case, it was lost when a number of assorted pastries were placed among them on the table. Not a cake then, that would be too much for a tavern, still, it’s more than Asch ever had.

Haytham drops a chocolate ball onto her plate, smiling vacantly as she punctures it with her fork and eats it with a small sound of pleasure escaping her, “You don’t like chocolate?” She wonders, it tastes marvelous, they seldom had it at the fort, much less allowed to have it herself when they did. “No, I don’t like the taste anymore.” Haytham murmurs, there was a deep sadness in his voice, so many of the things he said were full of it. The conversation was light, nothing too revealing, nothing interesting enough to remember, it was unbearable, when she thought about it long enough. An outsider desperate to poke at the intricate bubble that begun to surround her, unable to penetrate it for fear it would burst, It was obvious enough to ask, but she was polite enough to keep quiet, also too afraid of whatever they were keeping from her.

“Asch why not tell us about yourself, hm?” Charles suggests, pushing his plate away as he leaned back comfortably in his chair, Asch clutches her hands again him her lap, wringing her fingers “I was born in London, I always loved the rain there.” She can see from the side that Haytham has devoted all his attention to listening to her, and that alone was more intimidating then the rest of them, “And you moved here?” Asch nods gently, the bells jingle loudly in her hair, she would make poor prey, hardly an ideal chase, an easy meal to the feasting eyes of the table. “My father moved us here after my mother passed.” They were all sorry, faces dropping, some more than others. It had been a long time ago, long enough that her mother was a fond and fuzzy memory. Asch couldn’t recall the sound of her laugh anymore, couldn’t see her mother in her own face any longer.

“Yet none have claimed interest? Shame upon these American men.” Benjamin tuts, making her giggle abruptly, Haytham scoffs out a laugh, “Such a genuine beauty you have, my lady.” Charles agrees, nodding his head a little drunkenly. Lucky then, because she wouldn’t be able to afford painting her face as many ladies did, “Thank you Sir,” She says, but then adds “You’ll stain my cheeks with all these compliments.” Asch could hide nothing on her pale face, even less with her hair pulled away from her.

“We should endeavor to do so.” Charles hails for another round of drinks and they come to the table post-haste, as if they were the only ones worth serving, it was not lost on her that some were still waiting for their tables to be filled, and enviously looked on at them. Haytham touches the top of her hand gently, reminding her that she was not alone, his gentle, weapon calloused fingers trace a circle into her flesh. The touch seared up her arm and twisted in her chest, tugging at the strings of her heart. It was little of anything, but more than she thought she would receive, Asch bites her lip, tilting her hand and offering her palm. His fingers hesitate when presented the soft underbelly of her hand. Gentle as they clasp her palm in his own. Asch took the opportunity to clutch his hand, “When is your birthday?” Haytham whispers, wondering. Asch smiles at the implication it brings, soaring under his thoughtful gaze, “Already passed, October. The thirty-first.”

It passed before they met, but he was regretful all the same as if he missed it. “I’m glad I could spend your birthday with you,” Kissing him would have been too much, but she just had to do something, his cheek is too personal, too much for this bar and in the presence of his friends. Asch lifts their combined hands and makes do with a soft peck to the back of his hand.

Asch didn’t know what to do with herself as his soft, firm lips returned the gesture to her own cheek, suddenly not so beyond the limits of affection. None of it went unnoticed to the table, but it went without comment.

“Shall I take you home?”

Haytham watches carefully until Asch out of his sight and inside. The soft footfall of another horse perks his ears, but he barely acknowledges it as he waits for one more chance of seeing her. “We could take this fort with ease, if what she said is true.” Charles comes to his side, his words chosen with care, “You’ve grown interested in her, haven’t you?” Haytham breathes in the stinging cold, his lungs aching at the burn. Winter agreed with no man, at times kinder, but never a friend mortal men could count on. Haytham tugs the reins lazily, fully turning and Charles did the same, he would have preferred his night to close, sleep upon fresh sheets and keep his face warm by a fire, but they were men of principle, action and they were given a golden opportunity.

“I am very fond of her, yes.” Try as he might, he could not lie, not when his thoughts were filled with her smile. “You’ve made your decision then; you would not have brought her to us if you hadn’t.” Another truth he could not hide, the act itself would have been innocent, if they were not the men they were. Their approval wouldn’t just be what any normal man’s friends would be, it meant so much more then such a childish thing of _if they liked her._

Haytham waits, eyeing the road for what might come of this conversation, for she was a beautiful women, clever enough to keep up wits with him, it would be difficult to lie to a women like that, not that he didn’t think he could, she was curious, one day she might ask, who wouldn’t? Tonight simply proved she wouldn’t be easily fooled. “She is an equal match- I have never seen such a color before.” Charles nods, ambling until the darkness of the forest swallowed their secrets. “She makes a fine addition to your life, Sir, we all agree.” They continue to speak around it, even if the trees were the only one’s privy to their conversation.

“You’ll marry her then.” It did not beg an answer, nothing Charles ever asked did, “Yes.” Very fond indeed. A gentle smile reaches Charles face, and Haytham was in a mood to share it. “What would you hazard the captain was sickly with?” The idle chatter kept their mind off the cold that assaulted them, filling the ride with something more than howling of the wind. “Something disgusting no doubt.” Charles snorts, laughing low in his throat, “Pity we found out too late he was in town. What a date that might have made.” Haytham glares halfheartedly, smirking as Charles leaped from his horse, tying its reins. “Plenty in the future I’m sure.”

The offices were quiet, most have already gone home, but for a single doctor and his standing appointment. Yes disgusting, what else explained the need for an empty office and the cover of darkness. Haytham didn’t ponder the question for long, he was here to kill the man, not wonder after his choices.

Charles climbs the stairs first, his feet making minimal noise on the weathered oak wood stairs. Haytham follows after Charles pauses at the landing, “Shall I tell you my approach, or would you just like to shoot him?” Haytham clenches his jaw but can’t help the shake of his shoulders as he stifles a chuckle. Charles grins, moving passed him and down the hall. Haytham this time stays put, leaning against the wall as he awaits Charles’ success or failure. The moment is reflective, inspiring if he was so dull to let himself be taken away with the notion. 

_Marriage_ , Asch would make an agreeable wife, if not an exciting one. A companion he could bare his mind and return home too- if not have at his side always. If he was a softer man, he would consider her beauty in the ways she deserved it, he could, his was a sort of blunter affection, the words would come, but only a lesser fool would hide behind sugary words and decelerations. She didn’t look the sort to be interested in such foolish things, hidden behind soot and dye, practical, _sweet._ Violence was his veins, but Haytham concluded he could become a softer man, if only for her.

There was a crack of glass breaking and a rush of flames, Haytham cocks a curious brow as Charles emerges with a shattered lantern, dumping it onto the floor for the flames to consume. “Property damage, really Charles?” Haytham kicks off the wall, brushing his coats as Charles struts with the ego of a lesser man, but in this case, it was well placed. “Tell me you’d have done different.” Charles wouldn’t be kicked from his fine high horse, Haytham could tell he would be insufferable the rest of the night for it.

Asch grew more and more disturbed as the day progressed, it had been said that not only had a clinic burned to the ground, but both a doctor and soldier were found, identities hadn’t been confirmed, or at least did not reach Fort Hill yet, but it was clear to her exactly who it was when Jenny came back confused that captain Turn wasn’t there for his usual tea.

The very man she shared gossip about last night at a table of most dangerous men.

Horror and questions became her constant companions, sometimes accompanied by nerves that made her look like a bad liar. It was a horrible coincidence, that’s all it was, it wasn’t as if they actually killed him.

Were she simple it would have comforted her, but Asch knew better than that. _Curse_ her mouth, if she didn’t try so hard to be liked that man might still be alive. Not that he was a good one, but he never deserved to _die._ Did it comfort her that they might have killed him no matter what? Why did it weigh on her so harshly? Was it because she knew, somehow that Haytham was to blame for it? _Getting ahead of yourself_ she chides, there were five other men at that table, any one of them could have done it.

_So why didn’t she believe that?_

Asch was overestimating his interest in her, as much as it was painful to acknowledge, Haytham must have only wormed his way inside her heart to find out what she knew, to use her- whatever value this fort had to him, it meant more to him than she must have. Asch berates herself, why make it worse on herself like this? It was pitiful, unlike everything her father made her to be.

Asch hadn’t known she was fisting sheets to wrinkles until someone’s gentle hands stop her from shaking them to shreds. The reaction was instant, her heart in her throat as if she had anything to do with the crime, caught and nearly to tears. Head jerking up that her nose bumped into another’s, tickling her skin alive with fire and brimstone, stealing the wind from her lungs in one disarming, enchanting smile.

“Hello darling.” Haytham announces, a befuddled smirk on his face with a concerned, handsome brow tilted. Her heart was threatening to beat from her chest, booming against her ribcage as if trying to present itself to him. _Stop that, he killed someone._ Still it begged, rattling her insistently, she could hear it in her ears, _could he?_ Asch felt ridiculous, flesh prickled from his attention, _close, he was too close._ His eyes were all she could see, everything else mundane and faded, but bright, crisp worked steel. Too warm, too _innocent._ It was infuriating, how quickly she lost her good sense, he killed a man- likely not the _only_ man either. And yet.

_And yet-_

“ _Haytham.”_ His name was a gasp of fresh air, poison cured from her lungs, “Will you walk with me?” She was working, she had to say no, for more than just that alone, she should stop this now, stop seeing him- stop letting him _see_ her. The sheets fall back into the basket at her feet and she can’t remember why she didn’t try holding his hands before. He leads from the officer hall, every guard was wearing a different uniform, some were new, it should have frightened her. “I… I thought you were leaving.” It’s so lovesick, desperate for him to tell her otherwise, explain why he hadn’t yet left, that it wasn’t what she thought, and he wasn’t a horrible man who killed Captain Turn to gain control of the fort.

“I am, I have a few things left to do here, it’s why I have asked you along with me today.” Haytham answers, walking with purpose as he only knew how. Asch admired it, to be so sure, Haytham appeared the kind of man who could fit in whatever situation he came too, commanding the respect to make it his own. Was it envy that she looked at him with? Or was it hope?

Haytham lead her far from the fort, the winter biting at their cheeks unmercifully, but what made her truly cold was realizing how _safe_ he made her feel, it should have brought her joy, to be cared for like he clearly did. Haytham lets go of her hand, her fingers frozen, but she was keen to attention, transfixed on the calm movements he made.

Asch never saw him without his proud hat, but he looked no less intimidating without it. The snow shifts with his movement, rooting up with his feet as he turned back on his heel, facing her once again. His hair was a handsome black, nothing ugly like ink or soot, something more Asch couldn’t find the words to describe. Asch shook from more than the cold as he falls to one knee, a velvet box in his stretched hand. “Asch will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Haytham asks, watching, the expectation on his face was coupled with more nerves then she thought he was capable of- but he did look _nervous._

Asch is at a loss, not because she wants to say no, _he’s killed someone._ _He’s a bad man, He’s-_

_“Yes.”_ The breathless confession has him smiling, crowding her space as he puts the ring on her finger, it was the kind that shouldn’t be put on a servant girl, a diamond meant for a woman that owned things of equal value, it was so heavy of her little finger, weighing like an anchor. The sparkling diamond sat next to two smaller ones atop a traditional golden band, it was beautiful, it spoke to his thoughtfulness, to his own poise. In his hand he held her tenderly, rubbing a thumb into the muscle of her middle finger. _Would it be easier to pretend it didn’t bother her when she was his wife? Was a blind eye a condition of marriage?_

Asch had so many questions, but they were all silenced when his lips found her own, his will craning her neck, helpless to the tide. He would be the end and beginning of everything, this devil dressed a mortal, this man of murder and more, she knew, but she lost the willingness to care. Her whole self leans into his kiss, shaking like a leaf in the onslaught of his storm, he thinks her reaction is because of the cold, wrapping her in his arms, but it was _him_. The tips of her toes dig into the packing snow, “I will be leaving for New York soon,” He mutters against her mouth, “I would hope you join me.” Asch nods franticly, bewitched, enslaved- shackled to the choices of this fallen angel and all his blasphemy.

Despoiled of her senses, he robs her too of her morals, he’s killed Captain Turn, and yet what made her care, her compassion for the lives lost is drowned by his mouth.

Days are grim here, she wonders if it’s a punishment, a plague upon her for overlooking the sins of a devil masked as a man, his wings clipped and feathers forming a creed of its own, sprouting men with a purpose she has yet to know. Soldiers, the strange ones that are invited here speak nothing but orders to the servants, leaving themselves a mystery to the Fort and its meek inhabitants, the list of old allies growing short under this new man’s rule. Captain Andrews is a busy man, he has little time to walk the fort and less time to pay attention to its running. Asch has met him once and it is more than anyone else had yet. He called her his lady and bowed in deep in the presence of Haytham. His interest is in no way neglectful, but it is absent. _Bitter._ Haytham isn’t concerned by this, his mind on his work, _whatever that might be_. Asch still stays clear of his desk, despite no longer being a maid under his rule.

If her Fiancé sleeps, she doesn’t know where, his quarters became her own at his insistence, but he is there less and less, it would have bothered her if she didn’t know Charles came to the edge of the fort each night. Why he wouldn’t wish to enter was a mystery, if the ground was forsaken, she was damned. What she made all of it to be was trouble, leaving at night without a word of it in the morning. Haytham maneuvered around the questions as if he did not wish to lie to her, the pain in his face and pause for thought when she asked him, but the mastery he held over words was something remarkable, he spun his lies as well as his love.

Asch learnt to stop asking such difficult questions, but it did nothing for the tension, one could think he felt _bad_ for his secret keeping.

Asch walks without purpose, ambling around the fort without a thing to do, her time became her own after Haytham proposed her duties gone, replaced with the title of _his pale lady._ None let her help them, not in the kitchens, not in the laundry, it was infuriatingly boring. It was a great gift to be elevated like this, so she would suffer without complaint to Haytham, worried he’d think her ungrateful. Her feet make the softest sound against the stone, the darkened arch lit alive with a single candle. Agatha usually left one to melt into the top of a barrel. “Asch! I just heard! How dare you not tell me right away!” Agatha jumps up from her bedroll, book discarded onto the hay as arms come around her in a viciously tight hug, “I was- I could never find you!” Asch giggles, trying best to wrap her pinned arms around her.

“Oh, never mind that- let me see!” She takes her hand, pulling it to the candlelight, gasping at the glitter. “When? Where? Tell me everything!” Asch hesitates, smile faltering, Agatha cocks a suspicious brow “What’s wrong?” Asch swallows, tugging away, pulling loose hair from her face and undoing the leather knot at the bottom. “He’s… keeping things from me, Agatha.” The regret was instant, “Like what?” Asch feigns not knowing, Agatha sighs, patting her hand, “Men, darling.” _He’s killed someone Agatha._

Her confession is caught in her throat, better to choke the truth before it causes more harm, what would come of it telling Agatha? It would complicate her life. Asch smiles, finding it in smalls ways funny, enjoying the time she could spend with her before the bells tolled and her hours begun.

Asch chews her lip, staring at the mouth of the fort, watching the lone rider sit with a second horse, Charles. A man of fine measure, Haytham was across the fort under a tent with a few soldiers whispering about something over plans, it wouldn’t do to leave Charles there by himself would it? Asch is already stepping through deep tracks before she thinks better of it. “Ah- my lady it’s very cold!” Charles protests, slipping from his horse, attempting to shrug his jacket from his shoulders. “Don’t you dare, you’ll freeze.” Asch protests, but it falls on deaf ears. “Then I shall freeze,” he laughs gently, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, the billowy shirt hardly enough to stay the cold of the wind around them. “What’s brought you out in the cold, Charles?” The nerves rise in her chest as he eyes her, sharp milk pale green eyes digging into her skin, Asch wants to hide in the borrowed coat. “Hunting, of course.” His grin is full of teeth, a warbled laugh lifts from her, full of fear, Charles doesn’t seem to notice, perking as his eyes draw behind her. Haytham comes with a kiss, pressed warm on her wind whipped cheek, rosy from the cold already. “Darling.” His delight wraps around her with his arm, “Master Kenway.” Charles inclines his head, “Shall we be off?”

Haytham’s hum of approval vibrates in her chest, “Let’s see you inside, Asch.” He leads her toward the gates, “Oh- don’t let Charles catch his death.” Asch pushes the coat into his hands, Haytham smirks, peering back at his shivering companion, “Thoughtful, I’ll make sure he knows who to thank.” Asch giggles, Haytham interrupts it with another bold kiss, “I’ve nearly finished, I will be more attentive to you in the future.” His voice is low and smooth, she wants him to stay but she knows he had to go. Asch nods, shyly stealing another kiss that he gives with a mild chuckle, telling him to be careful feels useless, he always was and if he wasn’t, he was excellent at hiding his aches.

Haytham let’s her go, but the nonurgent leisurely way in which he does almost makes Asch wish she was a bolder woman than this, Asch can’t help but watch the horses leave down the well walked snow path.

“She’s been asking questions, hasn’t she Master Kenway?” The topic wasn’t an easy one, it was a reason he was dragging his feet, stowing away with Charles every night, _like a coward._ Was it truly wrong of him to prolong the painful, inevitable truth? His life was dangerous, such little luxuries were awarded and Haytham was damned if he would allow the Order to swallow his future- but it was _dangerous._ “She’s very clever- clever as she is pretty.” Charles laments, a dreamy tone, eyes far away. Haytham grips the reins tightly in his fists, envy was ugly on Charles, as jealously was on Haytham.

“What will you tell her? There is no going on like this.” No, there wasn’t. A strain was already settling in, a tight and obvious one. He had no illusion she knew _something_ , but too polite, too _shy_ to ask him. If Haytham wanted nothing more than a wife he could bury his displeasure of it, but he wasn’t a man that did anything by _half._

“Tell her, I suppose.” Haytham mutters, nothing for it, lying was easy enough, but not to _her._ Haytham more and more couldn’t stand the forlorn eyes that become sadder when she thinks he can’t see it. The pressure to ask the right questions so she doesn’t have to force a lie from him, because she was too clever. If only he could settle for a dull woman. “When?”

It eats away at him suddenly, that he doesn’t know. Twisting like a dagger in his stomach, pain so real Haytham squirms in his seat. “Soon- a few days after our wedding.” He’d rather turn around now, but their work was important. The rest of the ride was quiet and contemplative, Haytham didn’t have to speak to his reasons, they were as obvious as they were repulsive, wives were loyal to their husbands.

If Charles could tell he was angry, the man said nothing of it, brutality and cruelty weren’t unknown to them, but Haytham was given a few _looks_ that told him Charles was more than disturbed by the way Haytham twists hidden blade into his victims, the sickening crack of their bones and bodies as the succumbed to their deaths. One in particular was so brutal, if the thing wasn’t attached to him, Haytham would have left the blade behind in his skull, yanking it proved too much for his companion and Charles promptly left to find the rest of the soldiers. _Nothing by half_.

Something else was troubling Charles he noticed, the troubling look raising on his face as an unknown thing became apparent. Haytham would have left it at that, tired and cold, curse Charles for speaking. “Sir… I forgot that I had told my lady we were… hunting.” Haytham glowers, what a miserable and difficult lie. An awkward grin forces across Charles’ face as snow falls around his face. _Who hunts at night?_

Howls beyond the camp stir the night and Charles grins, “Lucky.” Haytham concludes with a low growl, trudging up the hill. “Luck? Sir I don’t know the word.”

“Do not test me Lee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me, I know what I did.  
> It'll all work out, Haytham is a little younger and history events will still happen when they happen.  
> If there are any dates that need to be cleared up I'll let you guys know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this got out of hand quickly, it's most of what my month looked like. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Asch awakes to something strange tickling her face, though she tried to resist it, she couldn’t escape no matter how she tossed. Asch breathes out a sigh, finally pulling her eyes open. Fire crackles in her ears, it was _sweltering_. Asch eases up, tossing her hair back, “Good morning.” A shiver knocks at the knobs of her spine, He shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that. _Gods save her for she has almost forsaken them._

Haytham’s eyes were already attached to her, a deep, darkness flooding the fine color. A quill rests lazily in his hand, “I trust you slept well?” His eyes snap back to his work, shoulders taught and tight with effort. As if it took all his strength to ignore her. Asch runs her hands over the bedding, soft fur under her fingers that she doesn’t recognize. It was a wild gray color, thick and soft for winter, a tiny expect stitch sewn together by the neck, as if a blade punctured it. Asch fingers the threads; it wasn’t any larger than a dagger.

Or that the size of the blade on Haytham’s wrist. _No, he wasn’t- he didn’t._

“Wolf?” Asch blurts, barely containing the need to search him for injury. “ _Wolves.”_ He adds, grinning, unhelpfully. Asch drags up the heavy _pelts_ , heaps of fur full in her hands. There was at least three she could tell were stitched together, all sharing the small little slice by their necks. The hide underneath was still raw, soft and tender. As if it was cured only an hour ago. “Did you let Charles have any of them?” Asch swipes her hands through the fur before slipping out of the bed gathering a thin robe to cover herself. Haytham watches every movement she makes, interest keen and coiled, “One.” His Adams apple jumps, moving only when she approaches the edge of his desk, another pelt in his hand, “A wedding gift.” Asch has trouble breathing as he rounds her, pressing her into the desk with his chest. Rough hands that try to be delicate winding the pelt of pure white around her arms, tucking each end in her elbows, warm hands clasped around her flesh. He smells like fresh pine and blood, clothes swathed in the campfire.

Asch didn’t need a mirror know the thing was beautiful, the hitch in his breath was more than enough to send her reeling. His solid frame and wandering hands make her acutely aware all she had was a shift and a thin robe. A low, grating snarl thrums out of his chest, turning her ears pink as his hot breath tickles the flesh. The wings of her shoulders dig into his chest as she reaches back, shaky fingers grasping the sleeves of his jacket, she can feel the blade tucked into his wrist, but more importantly, she can feel the very heavy line of his being.

Every nerve ending frays when his rough, hungry lips seal over the bow of her ear, teeth tugging carefully. Her shift bunches up in his closing claws grip, rising high on her thighs. Asch mewls, unable to help it “H-Haytham-“ It was meant to sound scolding, to make him cease his actions. Haytham _bites_ the ball in her neck, reminding her subtly how tightly he has her against the desk, trapped , deft fingers digging bruises into her pale hips.

There was a defined, crisp knock that startled Asch, her gasp dying when his mouth curls a snarl around her flesh, “Mister Lee is here for you, Master Kenway.” The voice behind the door turns the air stale between them, reminding her it was morning and certainly no time for _this._ Haytham pauses, mulling over his words while mouthing the tender skin between his insistent teeth. “A moment,” He finally decides, nipping at her shoulder once more before detangling himself reluctantly. Asch fidgets, a shaky breath pushing through the slats of her teeth as she tries to gather herself up from the puddle he’s made her into. Only to jump and squeak indignity when his lips leave another mark on her. “Pity. I shall wait for you outside.” His lips brush along her skin one last time before slipping out of the room, leaving her neck wet and littered with throbbing teeth marks and thighs clenched.

Haytham is rightly amused, proud and arrogantly grinning at her when she slips from the room shyly, the wolf pelt hung around her neck to hide whatever his teeth left behind. Haytham wraps her into his side, half hidden under his wide cloak as they walk out into the fort center. Charles was overlooking maps of the area, musing and muttering at aimless things. He blinks up, smiling instantly at their arrival “Master Kenway- lady Asch, I see you got my gift.” Asch can’t help but touch it, “It’s beautiful, thank you Charles.” He beams, bobbing his head “The maps for Fort George have arrived, Sir.” Haytham ducks under the tent, withdrawing from her side and leaning over the table. Asch regards the maps, wondering if she should be looking at all, “Here my lady- This is where we’ve plotted your residence.” Charles fingers a square on the parchment, in the middle of the fort’s defenses, standing alone with barracks on its left and another unplotted residence on it’s right.

The reality of it hits her suddenly, unexpectedly shocked that she hadn’t considered where she and Haytham would live. Asch saw her life day by day, but with Haytham there was a future to consider, to plan. Where they would plant their roots and grow- _where their children would grow._ Charles slips the plans toward her, returning to the defense planning. Asch thumbs through the sheets, while the basement was unplanned, the upstairs and ground level were all but finalized, a few alterations were marked in the margin written in Haytham’s own hand. Asch frowns slightly, “Haytham?” She says, focused intently on the plans, “Hm? Yes Asch?” he peers over his shoulder, “Something you’d like adjusted?”

Haytham’s boots scrape though the slush, settling by her side and inspects the parchments in her hands, “T-The… nursery,” Asch whispers, feeling the eyes of the other occupants on her, was she interrupting? “What of it?” Asch shifts on her feet, restless, trying to ignore the curious, _prying_ expression Charles has on his face. “It’s- it’s not _upstairs…”_ She felt foolish, face already flushing with heat. “Yes?” Haytham sounds perplexed, but she couldn’t look up from the papers, lest she faint from dizziness. “S-Shouldn’t it be?” The pause he took was too long, too quiet. “Would you prefer that?” There was something in his tone that Asch couldn’t decipher, it makes her squirm. “I- _Yes I…_ Who else will look after your babies?” she meant it to be light hearted, a _joke,_ of all things, she was never good at them, and it was clear he didn’t make it as one, despite the nervous laugh that lifted from her.

It died when she met his eyes. The intensity there was enough to twist her stomach into irreversible knots, she stood little tighter, the plans wrinkle in her hands as she perks at attention like a soldier under his gaze. It was stormy, full flushed with feeling. What she saw in their room was a mere faint echo of what this was, and she was so sure if they weren’t in the company of others she would be up against that table in the center of the tent. Asch squeezes her thighs together, a hot ache between her legs rapidly becoming familiar in his presence. Haytham swallows, it looks harsh, labored, then he snaps, subtle, as if it never happened. “I will see it corrected.” Haytham leans into her space and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to her forehead, “Where were we Charles?” Her smile can’t be controlled, it’s wild and giddy, bursting from her face when he peaks at her, a small, secret one tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She’s reserved enough to place the parchments back on the table, gathering her skirts up in her hands, leaving them to their work, the bubbled laughter fleeing her lungs when she’s well away from prying ears and eyes. Soldiers don’t question their lady leaving the fort but watch with cautious confusion as she spins with smiles at them blindingly, before she takes off into the brush where most of the servants are scavenging for fallen wood. “Agatha! Agatha!” Asch shouts , prancing through the snow as Agatha wipes her hands free of dirt, hair tossing over her shoulder “you look happy.” Agatha teases, digging in the snow again. “He’s wonderful Agatha,” Agatha laughs at her dreamy sigh, “He is? I could hardly tell.” Asch sits in the snow besides her fishing out sticks, “Master Kenway asked me to help you with the wedding plans after I’ve finished for the day, but…”

“Gentlemen you mistake me for a patient man.” Haytham’s words are followed by a sickening crack and a blood curdling scream, “Now be so kind as to tell me where your Captain is?!” The frustration was clear in his tone as he sank the soldier’s own weapon into his leg, jerking it jaggedly, rending the flesh. Blood spits out of his mouth, pelting Haytham in the face, the horror in the eyes of the man fading with his life. The blood doesn’t bother Haytham as he levels his gaze with the three other solders left tied to their chairs.

“Who would like to go next?” Haytham presses his weight onto the sword, pushing himself up to his full height, the sound was slick and wet when it sunk further into the dead flesh. “They seem rather unconvinced, don’t they Sir?” Charles muses, largely clean of the situation. Haytham’s eyes reach the edge of his vison, tilting his head slightly toward the mocking tone. “Do they now? Well.” He scoffs, finally wiping the splatter from his face, “Such a shame.”

Thomas sighs angrily, shoving off a lone box in the middle of the warehouse, “Let me see if I can get’em talkin’” Haytham didn’t doubt he could accomplish it, but wouldn’t disagree to a moment of rest. “How are the wedding plans, Sir?” Charles mutters, leaning his head low and toward Haytham. It was odd at best to ask something like that with the stench of death clinging to every wall of the warehouse. It brought a taint to his thoughts that Haytham wasn’t expecting, her name even to innocent to recall with the blood of men on his hands.

“thas’ right, ur’ getting’ hitched tomorrow- pretty invitations, su’prised I got one.” Thomas blurts, over the sound of the solider howling as Thomas digs a pick into the tip of his thumb. Charles scoffs, “Yes what would we do without the town drunk?” Haytham smirks, eyeing Thomas for a reaction. He answers with abuse to the second soldier, curling his lip, a glint in his eye. Haytham pushes off the wall, watching the shivering fear rise in the soldiers faces as he approaches. Thomas grins filthily, head rolled back over his shoulder, "Excited for yer' weddin' night revelries are ya'?” He starts, swaying the pick in his hands, rounding the soldiers, lazily, making them cower. Haytham frowns slightly, eyes sharp considering his words. Thomas hardly noticed the danger, and continued, “Supple lil' thing like 'er could pro'ly provide 'ours o' entertainment. _Course_ , after the night's done wouldn't be su'prised if there weren't a speck o' blood on them sheets, pretty lil' minx like 'er." Thomas was reeling at the unexpected, sudden jab Haytham delivered, Charles gapes, arms frozen, half unwound from his chest.

Haytham in the same fluid motion plunges his hidden blade into the soldier, baring his teeth, furious. “Find the Captain!” He snarls, lurching away and stomping to the double sealed doors, and leaving without another word shared between them.

The anger didn’t cool despite the weather whipping his face red as he rode the horse hard back to the fort, seething. _Thomas_ was unrefined, a foul little beast masked as a man. Haytham was tolerant of the filth because he held purpose in the order, the _charm_ of his rudeness was wearing on Haytham, let tonight be a warning then, Haytham would not entertain it again, should Hickey be foolish enough to try him.

Haytham rides into the mouth of the fort, his dark horse skidding in the slush as he yanks the reins. The horse snorts in irritation, stomping in the snow as Haytham slips off its back, a soldier gathers up the slacked reins, leading the horse back to its pen when Haytham leaves it. He walks with purpose toward the officer quarters. No surprise the fire had settled into a low flame, the small light luminating the crack beneath the door told him it had been long since it had been stoked. Appropriate for the time of night, Haytham eases the key into the hole, turning it without a sound and gently pushing the door open, careful of disturbing her.

In the dying light he could see how peacefully she slept, her hair a spread across the pillows, breathing softly. Haytham found his heart draining of rage, replacing it with fondness, with love. He’s methodical in removing his gear and heavy outerwear, leaving it over his desk in a neat heap. She isn’t disturbed when he joins her, barely twitching as he slides under the heavy wolf pelt and sheets. Haytham slips an arm under her and prods her close. Asch rolls with the motion into him, sighing softly and nuzzling comfortably against him. Haytham cradles her, admiring the softness of her features, her plump pink lips parted with her gentle exhales. Haytham brushes a kiss against the corner of her mouth, unable to help himself from it.

The wedding would be a long affair, a joyous one for more than himself and her alike. The soldiers and staff would enjoy the night, rare was an event like this, rarer still that it was found in a fort. It was practical if not anything else, but it would be no less remembered. It was a shame her father wouldn’t be there to see it, give his daughter away- Haytham idly wonders if her father would approve of him. Decidedly _not,_ if he knew what Haytham spent his time doing.

A small moan drags Haytham from his drowsy thoughts, privileged with the sight of her blinking heavy eyes open, “Hello Asch,” his whispers lowly, even that felt to loud and disturbing to his ears. Asch tenses, tilting her head up to see him clearly. Haytham pushes her hair away from her face, smiling as she relaxes in his embrace, “Haytham? Is it-“ Asch lifts her head up, shifting enough to look over her shoulder at the curtain drawn window. “Late still.” He soothes, pulling her back. “Oh…” she hums tiredly, rubbing her cheek into the pillow, wiggling closer. Haytham indulges it eagerly, wanting nothing more than to eliminate the space between them.

“Missed you.” She mumbles tiredly, arms coming around him lazily, clutching at his clothes. Haytham echoes the sentiment, a gravelly noise lilting from his chest. Asch presses a tender kiss to his throat, soft lips aimless in their quest, meaning nothing more than a simple, sweet kiss. Haytham pecks her hair, inhaling fire and mild soap. To think he wasted his nights drowning in blood and buried in bodies instead of being here, under the warmth of her embrace. He feels her fall asleep again, and Haytham let’s himself do the same.

Asch tugs a bit of her hair loose, twirling it nervously in her hand, unable to help herself from it. “Asch stop that!” Agatha smacks her hand, taking the lock and pinning it back with the rest of her hair, “If you ruin it, I’ll have to start all over again.” Asch plants her hands into her lap tightly, knowing it wasn’t an idle threat. “Don’t be anxious.” Agatha cups her cheeks, forcing her to look up into the mirror, Agatha worked her hair into a beautiful braided updo, tiny silver bells woven into her hair along with a shocking red ribbon that matched the one Haytham used to tie his hair back. “If you get any paler, I’ll have to use rouge to give you life.” Agatha giggles, pinching her cheeks anyway. Asch bats her hands, scowling, “Master Kenway requested I leave you as is- you have such a pretty face already.” Agatha coos, reaching forward and pecking her cheek affectionally. Asch giggles, squeezing her hand, “Did he tell you that he wishes me along to New York with you?” Agatha pulls her up, “And that Master Lee, such a handsome man, isn’t he?” Agatha pushes her behind the partition, tugging off her skirts, “He is? Has he spoken to you yet?”

Agatha’s cheeks turn red, “N-No- well… I’m sure I will get the chance!” Asch’s laughter is muffled under the pile of her dress. “Hold still! And hush! Not all of us can catch the attention of _lords._ ” Agatha pouts, it is almost playful, but Asch doesn’t tease her. “An introduction is in order then.” Asch nods, wincing slightly as the laces are yanked taut, Agatha was beautiful, it might have not been the kind that turned every head. But her warm brown eyes and silky black hair was all in its own. “You wouldn’t- oh, would you?” Agatha breathes, hopeful, Asch smiles warmly “Of course I will, maybe soon it will be you who has to fit into one of these horribly _tight_ and terrible things.” Asch nearly groans when the bodice tightens around her chest. The sleeves were stiff and made like a second skin, how she was to get out of this after tonight was beyond her. The gown loosens at her hip bones, but the fabric wire digs into her hips to keep shape. It wasn’t overly large or rigid, more soft and silk. Folding her arms was a challenge, the dress stubbornly adamant to only allow her to keep them at her sides, maybe it would loosen throughout the night with wear. It was plain and elegant, without frills or pleated fabrics that overburden most fine ladies’ dresses.

It too was modest, the neckline stooping only enough to show the shape of her breasts but not expose them. Shoulders thankfully covered. The inside lining was thin, not meant for the harsh weather, but she would be thankful for it later in the heated banquet hall after so many dances.

A gentle tapping echoes through the room, “My lady if you are ready?”

“A girl is never ready for her wedding,” Agatha laughs, “Come!” Asch is all but dragged out.

Charles as standing beyond the entrance to the hall, pacing aimlessly, perking when they came around the corner, his mouth hangs unhinged from his skull, seemingly forgetting how improper it was to stare. Asch, showing a rather bold face, twirls for him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Be still my heart.” He was smitten, clutching his chest in awe. Asch smiles behind her hand, “Will you allow me the honor to deliver you?” Charles presents his hand, it was solemn, a kindness in sorrow. Her father spoke of this day, how the floor would fill with flowers and the pillars would be dressed in silks. It was grand, too grand for a poor man’s daughter.

Charles pauses at the door, petting her hand comfortably, distracting her as the door eases open. There was no silk upon the pillars, no petals on the ground, but none of it seemed to matter when her eyes found Haytham. His elegant, reserved stance at the end of the aisle, his hair shimmering, eyes wide and full of blatant emotion. They couldn’t get to the end of the hall fast enough.

“Who gives his women?” The priest asks, “I do, Sir Charles Lee, in place of Damian Chambers.”

“Who accepts this woman?” Haytham steps forward, taking her hand from Charles, thumb soft as it rolls over her knuckles. Asch’s heart pounds excitedly, nerves vanishing under his eyes.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony.” The priest begins, clutching his book in frail, shaky hands. He was a homely looking man, one with a kind face, and understanding eyes. Asch hadn’t met many priests, her father wasn’t a devote man, preferring what he could see with is eyes than what he was told to have faith for.

“Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s Ordinance, in the holy Estate of Matrimony?” he asks in a gentle, small voice. “I do,” Asch says, eyes shining and smile full as she looks at Haytham, who could hardly take his eyes from hers.

“Wilt thou obey him, serve him, love, honour and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” His shaky hand flips the page, reciting the words without the scriptures help, “I do!” The eagerness in her voice made Haytham chuckle lightly, but she didn’t care, his eyes were so tender.

Haytham takes both of her hands in his own, slipping a ring onto her finger as he speaks; “With this Ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow…” flowers and silk were nothing compared to the sound of his voice, the solid conviction his in words. No finery could compare, could enhance what she felt now as he took her in his hands and kissed her in front of mortal men, in the sight of God himself as the priest looked on with a fondness for their young love.

Haytham’s hands are extra attentive when they are without the prying eyes of their guests, high on her waist and warm “Well Missus Kenway, I find it appalling that I must share my view of you.” His fingers dig into her dress, eyes and voice full with fervor, “ _H-Haytham_.” She doesn’t even want to rejoin their guests, she couldn’t care what it would look like, not when his hands were bold, rough with her like the only thing gentle was his tone. “I suppose it can’t be helped.” Haytham laments, grinning as he scoops her up into his arms. Asch braces her hands on his shoulders, giggling as she’s spun around before his lips crash against hers, intense, rich with promise.

Countless events were held in the fort, many of those she saw as a servant, not once allowed to touch the chairs or round the table, now she sat among the officers as if one of their own, _Lady Kenway,_ they all call her, as if they had forgotten turning their nose up and tipping their glasses over onto her. Haytham leans back heavily on the arm connected with her own at the seam, sparing an ear to Captain Andrews. “You leave for New York early; might I persuade you to stay a few days longer?” Haytham laughs, but it is joyless, _mocking._ “To coddle you? I think not.” Andrew’s laughs tensely, cringing in his seat, squirming for an excuse to leave it already. “You will be well missed…” Haytham hums absently, his attention waning already, letting the Captain free to stumbled away from his cutting gaze. “Does sailing agree with you, Asch?” Haytham softens, finding her hand and cradling her fingers, playing with them idly. “As much as it does with anyone else, storms were frightening.” Haytham nods, considering her, “It will be two days at most, I’m told the weather will be agreeable.”

“Have you been many places, Haytham?” After leaving London for Boston she never left, the lack of money stopping her ambition cold. “Oh, regrettably not, a few more than you I should think, but I am no explorer.” Haytham murmurs his answer, eyes trained on the servants and guests alike that might have heard him. It was a strange thing she had noticed first about him. Haytham treated anything he said as if it was a great secret. _Men don’t act this way if they’re honest._

If he was withholding- _hiding_ something it weighed on him at least, his eyes were heavy with regret when their gaze stayed overly long. If that was enough to prompt an explanation Asch couldn’t tell, the more she knew of him the _less_ she understood. Haytham was no military man, but clearly knew more than he let on of combat and strategy, he was no noble, but everyone acknowledged an importance she had yet to understand fully. One thing was for certain.

_He was a very powerful man._

Haytham overlooked the court as if he was a king, the only one bold enough to approach their table was Agatha, “Master Kenway, _Missus Kenway.”_ She coos, much to Haytham’s amusement, “May I borrow your new wife, Sir?” Agatha’s tone was anxious, her cheeks stained by a pretty rose color. “If she is inclined to be borrowed.” Mirth leaks from every word he speaks, Agatha jumps giddily, presenting her hands to Asch.

“I take it you want that introduction now?” Asch asks knowingly, poking her side. Agatha was drunk, that much she could tell, but despite all her courage, she needed the help wine could give. Charles was in high spirits all the same, his body swaying and cheeks dark from drink. “Charles!” Like a siren’s song and a sailor, he turns to her call, basking in her beauty. “My Lady _Kenway!”_ This new title was one she could get used too. “I thought Haytham would never let you leave his side! What might this humble man do for you?” Asch nudges Agatha forward, watching his eye wander in keen consideration of her. “I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Agatha Dennings.” Charles stands, sways dangerously, “My lady such a pleasure. Charles Lee.” He announces, bowing deep.

“Would you treat her to a dance, Sir?” Charles simply lights up at the idea, bobbing his head “Splendid idea! Let us away, my lady!” there isn’t a moment between his words before he whisks Agatha away from Asch’s side. The look she gets from Agatha is priceless, utterly excited and ever grateful. Asch snickers behind her hand, fond and full when Charles spins her.

“Might I trouble _you_ for a dance?” Haytham whispers hotly into her ear, body flushed against her back. Asch spins in his hands, turning pink at the salacious grin. “I-It’ll be t-trouble to _you-_ I d-don’t know how to dance.” She felt ashamed to admit it, reminding her how futile her attempts were to fit in a world that wasn’t hers. Haytham’s smile turns tender, “I will teach you, perhaps when we are settled in New York.” Haytham wouldn’t do anything to embarrass her, or himself, so she trusts him as he leads her to the floor.

They simply sway gently like a tide lapping at the sand, nothing busier than the next, “I see Charles with Agatha- playing matchmaker?” He teases, forehead resting against her own. Asch sighs contently, it was far from a proper dance, but it was wonderful, “ _Perhaps.”_ He exhales in amusement, “She was a bit head over heels.” Asch admits, “Well. He looks simply enchanted. I will investigate and report at once.” Asch laughs sweetly, aflutter, elated with the butterflies stirring in her stomach. The dress hadn’t loosened like she expected it too, the discomfort was roaring quietly around her ribs with each breath she took, tightly grating her hips raw. It was becoming harder to ignore, and harder to hide.

“Are you alright?” Asch couldn’t hide a thing from him.

Asch wiggles her shoulders a little, trying to alleviate some of the pressure, but it was no use. This dress was as impractical as it was beautiful. “It’s hard to breathe.” He understood instantly, his hands coming up her back to the taut silk cord. Haytham’s fingers toys with the fat bow at the bottom, batting an idea in his mind, voicing none of it. Asch feels the action acutely, the tugging loose of the bow and his deft plucking at the strands. Asch exhales deeply, relieved as she was mortified. Somehow, he manages with one hand to discreetly redo the bow, or at the very least tie if off, “Better?” She offers a shy smile, unable to help her wandering eyes search the room for witness to their impropriety.

“Thank you.” Her hips were still pinched, but her lungs didn’t ache now. Haytham presses another gentle, longing kiss to her lips, much to the entertainment of their guests. “How ladies manage not to faint is beyond me.” Asch marvels, Haytham sighs out his amusement, “You certainly don’t need the assistance.” _Devil._ And such a wonderful one at that.

Haytham had been careful, ever reminding her that there was something she wasn’t seeing, few weapons obvious and some not, he wore none tonight, if he did, she couldn’t see them. What sides had she yet to see? What sides would she never? He was a gentlemen, teasing and clever with his words, Asch immensely enjoyed their conversations. Asch would be arrogant enough to believe he was as challenged by her as she was him. They _complimented_ each other, his intelligence mysterious, but clear, while hers was practical, _but clear._

The banter was a favorite of hers, he clearly better than her, but she liked the playfulness it bought out in him, shyness was a symptom, the cure would be the comfort of his presence time would give her.

“The ribbon is quite pretty,” He starts, smirk evident in her ear, “Is it one of mine?” There would be nothing for the smug tilt in his voice, he was far too pleased with himself already, “I’m pleased to _hear_ that the bells arrived.” He spins her with enough force for them to jingle, “You sent away for them?” She asks, puzzled why he would go to such lengths for such a silly, noisy little thing. “Yes- pleasant little trinkets.” Pleasant in memory too, it wasn’t so long ago that she was in his quarters, amusing him with the little jingles. It felt long ago, a time unfamiliar, unrecognizable to her now.

A time where she was a servant and he was and strange and mysterious lord. A _dream_. Such a beautiful and perfect kind of one, unreachable as ever, yet somehow in her grasp. It was a gift as equal to a curse, she could wake up any minute and he would have never been. Haytham pulls her tight to his chest, such little things reminded her of his presence, the hard to ignore heartbeat behind his flesh and bone, the breath that tickled her face, as if to say _fear never, for I am real._

“You’ll never be able to go unnoticed again.” Haytham muses, swaying her enough to enjoy the sound of the tittering. Small wonder what he meant by that, as if there as more to it then he said. “Should I want to?” Asch asks, a far cry from what she used to want from life. “No…” He pauses, a troubled expression weighing on his happy mood, “There are few things I wish to tell you, but this is no place for it.” Asch felt dread rise, _I told you so._ Unhelpful, paranoid whispers nibble at the edge of her thoughts, all those fears came to fruition, _you knew, you knew, and you let yourself be fooled._ Ignoring the warnings, the obvious- Asch didn’t make it a habit to lie to herself, not in her character to easily let something like that happen to her, but she _did._

“You’re dangerous, then?” Asch didn’t know what brought her to say it, a secret courage, or just plain foolishness. “Of a kind.” His words echo a fond memory, almost ruining it with the present sour taste, “Not to you.” Then he was. Was it made worse now that it was true, told from his own mouth? Would she have preferred to leave it all in secret? He was approaching her with soft words, too gentle for her ears and too soft for the topic they carried.

“You weren’t just hunting then?” She shouldn’t be asking such things, shouldn’t want to know what was _really_ happening, oh to be a blissful, clueless girl. “No. Have I upset you?” _Murderer- monster-_

_Husband._

“No,” She decides, taking him for whatever he is or might be. Haytham seems taken back by it, as if she wouldn’t stand for his lies. As if he thought she would cast him away, as if he thought their marriage was expired in the light of his truth. Asch was glad for it, really, “Was… it deserved?” What would it bring her to know that? Was it any less morally wrong if it was? Was all the wrong magically evolved if it was done for the right reason?

“Yes.” Weight visibly lifted from both of them, _many sides indeed._ Asch can’t find a reason to hate it, to hate this part of him, she should, any good girl would have balked at his honesty, feared him for it. “You’ll tell me?” _The more you know the less you’ll like._ “Yes. All that you ask and more.” That was enough for now, enough _forever._ To know, simply that he would not lie, would not hide, that his caution was not borne of distrust, but simply worry of her thought of him. As if it would ever have been ill. No, Haytham was many things, a dealer in death, in carnage he could see and make sense of.

_And he was hers._

Haytham soon had enough of dancing, leading her from the tables and out into the hall where it was quiet, save the crackle and spit of the braziers. A figure was hidden in the shadow of the corner. Haytham had no fear of it, the man she knows him to be now wouldn’t be. As they close the gap, she realizes it to be Thomas, his face a stale sulk, painful looking with the split skin across his nose and blackened eyes. “Oh, Thomas are you alright?” The question made his lip curl, a frightening sight alone, but Haytham was a beast of his own kind, “Yes Thomas, are you?” Haytham sounds goading, daring Thomas of something. “’Em fine. My lady.” He bites, snapping foul as a snake. That’s all it seems Haytham will tolerate of him, his sharp glare sealing Thomas’ lips as both a needle and thread would.

She might one day soon ask the nature of Hickey’s employ, but he is a crocodile without scales, an unimportant man wrapped in the same shroud as Haytham.

What arrived before her predictable, but she had forgotten the night would end here. The room was stowed in boxes, scant few things remained. The desk she so feared held only Haytham’s hat, she swipes her hand along its edge, testing if some unease would rise, the worry was so little now in the distance. Haytham’s breath tickles the loose strands of hair at her neck, his body molding her to the desk “Familiar, hm?” His smirk runs over her skin again, accompanied by kisses, a loud rap makes her jump, gaze shooting toward the shut, barred door. Haytham chuckles, tapping his knuckles again against the solid wooden desk before them. 

Fingers peck at her ties, loosening the dress from her back as he peppers kisses from her neck and beyond, pushing the sheer cloth from her shoulder with his handsome nose. He turns her in his grasp, wet marks in his wake, its scorching, numbing her mind dull enough that when they stumbled into bed, she’s breathless, broken of sense and chafed by his clothes. Asch grows shy under his seeking mouth, jaw scraping against the tender skin of her soft breasts. Haytham’s skin was rough, shaven close as he liked it. It made his cheeks harsh to touch, but none would find a man without such roughness. It grates against her skin, lips a balm to her pink nipples. Asch whimpers under his mouth, shivering as he laps attentively, sucking soft marks around his warm fingers. Asch colors red as he grasps her breasts in his hands, weighing them in his palms, lovingly gaze pressed between them. His hands only abandon her to remove his offensive clothing.

His shoulders were defining, bulk made of more telling activates than the work she’s seen him do. A grace deadly that was barely contained in his layers, not that his figure was the only thing to fear. Pleasing dark hair trailed down his sharp and refined stomach, a shocking contrast to his peach warm skin. Haytham loosens the stings of his britches, but his lips swoop forward, hard lines of his muscle meet where she is soft, and a purr rolls through his chest as it would any pleased predator. 

Those eyes were inescapable, accosting, deeper than darkness. They were utterly beautiful, the shifts of soft, blooming fog to those ominous, wicked thunderclouds she liked to see so much in London- _she likes this sight so much more._ The shudder that falls from her pink, raw kissed lips delights him, the pleased smile runs over her skin until it reaches her flat belly, “Bruises?” He mutters, more to himself. She had been right then, that infernal, stunning dress left its marks on her. Haytham kisses them with utter care, and she knows, with great mortification, that he too would leave _his_ mark all over her. That she doesn’t think she would mind so much. “I should have taken that dress off you the moment I saw you in it.” Asch squeaks at the gravely ruin that serves as his voice, squirming as his hands grasp her thighs, spreading her open to his shadowy eyes.

A surprised moan rips out of her throat when his teeth sink into her thigh, deep aggressive dents are kisses away from aching, a filthy smirk on his face, dangerous man with a dangerously clever mouth. Asch aches back into the plush pillows, pushing a breath through the slants of her teeth, face dizzyingly pink, he was _staring._ She tried to think of anything else, wiggling in his grasp as much as he lets her, eyes burning brands into her flesh, was it as he expected? More? Less?

Asch knew little, but she wasn’t daft, men liked to talk when they thought no one could hear, and found it amusing if they were. The finer points however…

Mother wasn’t there to tell her, father was too embarrassed to say much about it to his little girl, not so much as muttering _you’ll know when you’re older._ But that had never come to pass. She should have asked, but it never seemed very important.

Asch cries out at the unexpected, impatient tongue, swiping through her folds, “Distracted?” Haytham bites, but there is more than anger there. “N-No!” She felt she had to answer him, shivering at the aggression before her, in the rough way his hands seize her. His keen eyes sparkle, mischief clear in his intentions as he kisses her cunt softly, “Pay attention then.” She does, helpless to the force of his tongue tracing her folds. Haytham is _thorough,_ Asch was a shaky, whimpering mess, tense and sweaty in the sheets when he finally flicks the tip of his devil tongue against her swollen bud. Her thighs squeeze his ears, feet involuntarily digging into his hard sides, he kisses her, tongue swiping over it again, wet huffs of air tingling her already worked-over sensitive skin. “ _Haytham-“_ Asch chokes out, panting nosily but finding she couldn’t keep a breath in her chest long enough.

Blunt, _warm_ fingers massage their way up her thigh, gentle in their intentions when they prod at her opening, clear in their destination. Asch can’t help but spread her legs to his intrusion, desperate to give him as much room between her legs as her pelvis would allow for. Haytham presses his middle finger knuckle deep inside, wrist twisting, Asch mewls, bucking into this insistent tongue and _curling_ finger. She’s quaking, shivering, _clenching_ under his mouth. Her own fingers tear at the sheets while his just push into her with the ease and pleased confidence. Proper, _dangerous_ Haytham laves at her cunt like candy. An unrestrained wail breaks out of her chest, lashes fluttering, cunt throbbing, he won’t _stop_ , even as she’s sobbing, waning and wanting sounds mixed with his name filling the room- _the hall, too._

Haytham licks his wet mouth, sucking the shininess from his fingers, staring at her spread upon his bed sheets, twisting and shaking from over sensitivity “Have a care for the sheets, darling.” He says, voice rough and raw. “You’ve wrinkled them.” Haytham smirks, worming his way under her hand to clutch it. Her ankles brush his bare legs, thighs snug against his warm hips. He had such a smart mouth.

Asch kisses him, pushes herself up to meet him in a clash of tongue and teeth, tasting herself om his lips. It’s wild, untamed, furious as any fight she was doomed to lose, yielding to the onslaught of his desire. Haytham’s cock twitches against her, his short snarl rips from his bobbing throat, a mighty hiss of pleasure pushing through his teeth. Asch swallows, unable to help looking between her legs where he rolls his wrist with short jerks. _Haytham was a fine thing to look at._ Dark hair groomed and tidy, cock ruddy and red and twitching in his grasp, wet and drooling. His skin was shimmering with sweat, white hair thick scars litter his skin like a map of stories to tell. Asch traces one with the tip of her nail, his fine shoulder tensing at the touch before his lips capture the side of her finger in a kiss.

Haytham tugs her abruptly, making her gasp, feeling the tip of his cock bump into her, Haytham cocks a brow, a lopsided smile asking the question she didn’t need to hear to know. “Haytham,” Asch whispers, arching her hips, “Asch.” He answers in kind, sinking forward. Asch’s cry is swallowed by his mouth, the intense push of his hips until he was settled and seated inside of her, his own low, rough grunt staining her ears pink.

Words were wasted now, both unable to find anything to say as Haytham rocks his hips, hissing as her cunt seals around him. “Oh…” Asch moans, he was heady and heavy, she was trembling under the force of him. Asch bites her lip enough to bruise it, nails gouging his flesh instead of the fabric, marking him with little red trails down his back. The pain was nothing, but he didn’t allow it to go unpunished, teeth cut down into her collarbone, enough to make the skin red and pulse, but he want cruel enough to wound her.

Asch moans for it, moving her head to the side so he can access the sinew of her throat, indecency was a worry for tomorrow as he settles on a harsh, deep and slow pace. Guttural, hungry noises leave Haytham, the kind that send excited shakes up her spine and aches between her legs. It was a little sore, but the way his cock pushes against her insides make her forget the twinge of pain in favor of the full, wonderful feeling he’s grinding into her.

His hands plant beside her head, thrusting with is powerful back and hips, the maddeningly slow pace picking up with each gouge of his cock. His kiss is more tender then his pounding hips, languished and sweet, fingers follow into her hair, twirling the loosened locks and tittering the bells, making them both smile. His thumb catches on the ribbon, sliding over the silk thoughtfully. Asch never thought when Agatha suggested it that it would be anything more than a pretty accessory, it gives Asch few ideas for the future, surely, he would appreciate seeing her in his colors more often.

_Men do love that._

Asch was terribly sentimental.

Haytham moves and draws her up with his hands, firm and fixed on her arse, pulling her on his cock as much as he was pressing in, his jaw working around low rough snarls. Asch could stare at him forever, but in the end she’s too shy and buries her tinted red face into the bedsheets, breathing out raggedly as the new angle lets him go deeper, squeezing breathy, unrestrained moans from her mouth. Haytham drinks in the sounds, taken with the feeling between her soft thighs, thrusting wildly. Asch’s cries grow loud, her stomach looping in knots as the familiar tingling returns. Haytham is darkened with exertion, with ink blot dark iris’ watching her squirm and arch. “Haytham- _ah-_ “ her needy pants drive him into slamming his hips, tipping them over the edgy into ecstasy.

The bitten off snarls choke the room, beasty, _burning._ Haytham coils over her, teeth bared and clenched, Asch screams, claws racking down his back, violent as the man above her, he spends himself deep inside of her, weight slipping comfortably on top of her, they a mess of limbs and love.

Haytham kisses her deeply, longing and lasting. Haytham shifts so he is no longer putting his crushing weight down upon her, instead turning onto his side, keeping her close to his chest, _“I love you.”_ His voice was hoarse, used and tired. Asch buries her nose in his sweat slickened neck, smelling all that was him, “I love you.”

Morning was warm, wonderful, wrapped in sheets and skin melded to skin, it was almost a shame to open her eyes and find his staring back at her, _almost._

Haytham swipes stray hair from her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. “Good morning.” He sounded sinful with that sleep clogged voice. “Good morning.” It was early, not yet dawn, but they were leaving to the harbour, and no matter the kind of man her husband was, a ship would not wait for him-

_Or would?_

Asch has yet to know what her husband could and couldn’t do. His was a limitless kind of power.

They rise, but not without admiration for another, he more than her, less shy about his loving kisses to the tops of her teeth-bruised breasts. His kisses were ticklish, and he enjoys the melody she makes. “I have a few things to clear with Charles before we leave.” Haytham says, finally pulling himself from the warmth of their bed. “Is he not coming?” Asch asks, dragging the blankets off the bed to follow his delightfully naked form, little twinges of soreness cling to her thighs with each step, but it feels _wonderful._ “No, by the end of the week he will arrive, but for now he must stay and attend matters.” He is quick to get dressed, but not lacking in the quality, looking together and proper as ever. Haytham stares a little too long at her, “I think,” He starts coyly, rounding her in close consideration, “I should like to have you just like this.” He fists some of the bedding in his hands, playfully tugging it. Asch bats at his indecent hands, “Don’t leave Charles waiting,” She scolds, but would like nothing more to be tangled in the sheets together again. Asch plucks his hat from its neat place upon the desk, watching him adjust it to his head. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He kisses her, leaving before he finds the better sense to stay.

_An hour hm?_

Agatha is a great help to her scheme, helping her into one of her wedding gifted dresses, a gorgeous deep blue, that was by no coincidence the very same color as Haytham’s jackets. They find the ribbon from last night stuffed under the pillows, “Did it hurt much?” Agatha’s voice is soft when she examines the soiled sheets, the dried crimson evident proof. “Not at all,” Not once had he let her feel any pain, Haytham was simply wonderful. Agatha grins when she sees Asch affixing the ribbon around her throat in a neat, pretty bow. “Oh, he’ll love that- what shall we do with your hair?”

“Brush it.” Asch says, playing with her loose hair, Agatha gapes at her, “You mean to leave it loose?” Haytham was a terrible influence, she could feel his boldness already rubbing off on her, “You’ll offend some gentlemen.” Agatha grins, helping brush her hair, “They can take their _offense_ to my husband.”

Her boldness, it seemed, to only extend to the empty hall beyond their quarters. The stares were a nightmare, never once has she had so many people looking at her, have so many people _know_ who she was. Haytham was as difficult to find as a shadow in a bare field, in fact, it hadn’t been him she had found, it was Willian Johnson. William, if he was shocked by her appearance said nothing of it. “Hello lady Kenway.” Asch smiles anxiously, “Looking, perhaps for Haytham?” It was certainly obvious she was, “I’m afraid he went into town, back any moment, if you would like to sit?” Haytham trusted these men, some more than most and William was a gentleman- at least he pretended to be one as well as she pretended to be a lady.

William was unlike Charles, but it would be good to stay in his company, something told her that he would assure her safety, if not for anything more than to keep away Haytham’s fury.

“I will, thank you.” He offers his own spot by the fire, it was kind in a way she felt bad, but he looks fine sitting by the door. “You make a pretty sight, my lady Kenway.” He remarks, a strange fogginess in his tone, Asch smiles despite that, “Asch please- and thank you. It was a gift.”

A smile breaks on his face, “Mine, actually.”

“Oh? It’s beautiful, and so very thoughtful, thank you Sir.” William beams by her words, “William, if you are to be Asch.”

He was pleasant company at least, more than Thomas had ever been. “Are you excited for the move?” He asks, leaning on the arm of the well used chair, watching her face with attentiveness. “Yes- ships aren’t my favorite thing, but I can’t say the sea wouldn’t be a welcome sight.” Who couldn’t love the vast empty miles of water? The freedom as well as its danger. Haytham’s father was a sailor, it was in his blood, but he was a force that couldn’t be aptly describe by the nature of the world, no he went beyond such confides of whirling winds and bottomless oceans.

William nods, “Two days at sea will clear your mind.” He says, Asch watches him think of something next to say, but before he can try and voice it, behind him, the door swings open, revealing Haytham. There was blood on his sleeve, little dried dots covering his face. _There would be no secrets now._ Asch thinks its no longer a good thing he doesn’t try to keep things from her… William studies Haytham, wondering- or maybe not, whose blood that is, like Asch is. The room is suddenly overstuffed with Haytham’s allies, Thomas leaning on the door to the outside, his face still recovering from whatever happened, sour and biting at any who cross his gaze.

Asch sits very straight when Haytham settles directly behind her chair, oddly far from his trusted men. She had questions, obvious ones she wouldn’t voice, something was _wrong._ Charles is the only one Haytham isn’t weary of, his approach not met with the same malice that had John Pitcairn stilling sullenly by the door.

The smell of blood polluted the air around her husband, strangling his usual musk, his bloody hand rests on the corner top of her chair, “Washington has become a growing concern.” Haytham says, “I have more pressing things in New York that must be attended, however. Charles I would see you as my envoy.” Charles nods eagerly for his task, “I hope you find nothing, Take John with you.”

The room began to thin, Thomas shunted aside by the two leaving, Asch shifts uncomfortably as the air thickens. Haytham wipes his face with a stray cloth, watching, waiting. Asch can feel his eyes on her, curious holes burning in the back of her head. What was she to make of all this? What was he waiting for her to make of all this? It must have been some kind of test, to see if she fit into this part of his gruesome life.

Asch must have passed, because when the last of his men leave Haytham presses a kiss to the top of her head, “I see now what Captain Andrews was harping about.” Haytham runs his fingers through her hair, offering a hand to help her up from the old chair. “I haven’t caused you trouble have I?” her voice was little, she didn’t _think_ beyond it being scandalous, of course someone would raise their concerns, bothering Haytham with it. The first day of their marriage and she was already a pest to him.

“Trouble?” He chuckles, leaving with her, “It gave me an excuse to hit him.” Asch blinks up in surprise, is that where the blood came from? “I don’t like when men talk about my wife.” There was a possessive growl accompanying his words that made her shiver more than the cold ever could. “Who is Washington?” Asch whispers, wondering exactly what was and wasn’t a secret, best to assume _everything_ was. “A Thorn in my side, one that I might have to deal with very soon.” He hides his nose in her hair, casual, though his words were anything but.

Instead of two spare horses at the gates, a carriage awaited them, a driver shivering beside the doors. “Master and lady Kenway!” He sparks, bowing, readily opening the door to reveal a plush red inside. Haytham helps her inside and sits across from her, as they pull away Asch can’t help the pang of sorrow she feels, it is not without happiness as she says her final farewells.


End file.
